The Perfect Game
by Renn
Summary: AU. Cobb the dream manipulator and his associate Arthur the invisible point man are the perfect team. Enter Eames the shape-shifter, and it seems even a Dream Team can get better. It doesn't mean Arthur likes it - or him. Slash - Eames/Arthur
1. New Challenger

**The Perfect Game**

This is new for me, both writing about a movie fandom and an AU – I mean, _more_ AU than usual! I wanted to write something that was different, but at the same time not miles away from the original, so I came up with the idea of giving them special abilities. I hope you'll like it, and don't hesitate to let me know either way!

I'm my own beta and English isn't my first language, so I apologize in advance if sometimes the expressions sound foreign – I'm most likely translating them literally from my language!

Warning: this story will contain slash (I can't do anything else, I'm cursed! Haha) in the form of Eames/Arthur.

Disclaimer: _Inception_, its concept, ideas and characters don't belong to me and in no way am I making any profit from this.

* * *

Everyone sees the World in a different way – it's a good thing, though, it creates diversity. Now if you were to ask Arthur to compare life to something else, he'd say it's like a strategy game - chess, more often than not. You place your pieces into a careful, orderly position, and then it's a battle of wits to get your opponent before he gets you – a sophisticated evolution of the 'kill or be killed' rule that has always governed the animal kingdom. If your pieces are set the right way, if the strategy is sound, then the scene will unfold as it should – and you'll live another day to tell the tale, figuratively moving up the food chain.

It's mostly a one-man-versus-the-World game and you're on your own, but that's the fun part sometimes. Then some other times, someone else gets in the game, and undeniably that's the only way things can ever turn _really_ interesting. It's a good thing that Cobb globally shares his point of view though, because admittedly if he didn't their collaboration wouldn't go over that well.

Yet Dom also believes that the truly good games can only be played by a large number of challengers, so despite Arthur's opinion, he regularly looks for temporary partners for their jobs. Dom's the boss, so his decision's final. It's okay though; he's not unfair, and he's a tremendously good judge of character.

At any rate, it's the reason why they're sitting in a lively family diner in London – using this time to ponder on random things and facts of life. Waiting to meet a potential associate. Dom is idly leafing through some local newspaper, a distracted smile on his face as he hears the children's laughter. Arthur _may_ be sulking, but he won't admit to it – because _really_, he _isn't_ – and his friend pretends not to notice.

It's a late Thursday evening and the autumn weather is warm and breezy when the forecast decidedly predicted chilly rain – proving again how meteorology is such a _reliable_ science. But neither Dom nor Arthur can bring themselves to make much of it as they wait in a corner booth – rain hadn't been part of any of their escape plans anyhow, so its absence doesn't change anything.

"I don't like this," Arthur says quietly after some time, _not_ sulking, twirling the ice in his drink. Admittedly, it may not be the first time he makes such a comment.

"Yes, I've heard rumors to that effect," Dom humors him, sparing him a side glance.

"Doesn't seem to have made any difference." He may not be sulking, but his tone is definitely accusing.

"In my defense, there really isn't much you do like," the older man notes with the ghost of a teasing smile playing on his lips as he turns his page. Oh, well what do you know? Yet _another_ idol arrested for drunk driving! Would you look at those mug-shots…

"Well it's never worked seamlessly before," Arthur insists. Outsiders always disrupt his carefully planned strategies – well, not _always_ always, but more often than not.

"It just could this time," Cobb assures him. If one thing can be said about Dominick Cobb it's that he doesn't give up, not once he has something in mind – that, and his calm is legendary. "From all accounts it seems this 'Eames' might be able to work with us."

Arthur is about to reply something along the lines of 'remind me why we even need another person' and 'we need to do better than _might'_ when a blond head bobs up next to them and huge green eyes peek over the tabletop.

"Well hello there young lady," Cobb greets her as his eyes run over the quiet diner trying to find the parents who might've misplaced her. "What brings you over here?"

"The other kids are boring," she declares with all the importance and gravity a young child believes she can have as she looks back at the children's playground. "You seem more interesting. Especially you," she adds, turning to Arthur. "Are you single?"

Both men laugh at this, because really, how could they not?

"You're even more dashing when you smile," the little girl insists, her eyes never leaving Arthur.

"Okay Princess, I think I need to have a talk with your father before this goes any further," Arthur says as he slides along the bench to get up and find the precocious adventurer's parents.

"And here I thought gallantry had all but died!" she says as she fake swoons. The two men pause and she smiles – entirely differently – as she looks up at them. "But let's wait some more before you ask the old man for my hand and get down to business first, shall we?" she asks with a cocky look that is just _wrong_ on her face.

There's a loud banging noise outside that catches their attention for half a second right then and when they turn back to her, she's nowhere to be seen and a smug man is sitting himself down in the chair beside Cobb.

"Mr. Eames, I presume?" Cobb asks casually, not that surprised in retrospect as he's heard tales – _tales_ – about the forger.

"You'll pardon me my bit of fun, I'm sure," the man begins with a small shrug, voice now a warm deep timber rolled in an English accent, "but I find you get a good read on people by observing the way they behave in front of a child. And he really does look dashing when he smiles," he adds as if it were an afterthought, gesturing towards Arthur as though he can't hear them.

Arthur definitely isn't smiling anymore though and his look clearly tells Cobb that he can find himself another point man if he dares laugh about this. He just got hit on by a thirty-something-year-old man in the body of a six-year-old girl! This is _not funny_, dammit! (Well, truthfully his shirt's paisley collar _would_ be funny if it wasn't such an eyesore.) And then of course a part of him has to note that the other's a damned good shape shifter though; his transformation was flawless physically, and he was under the impression that they'd have never known they weren't talking to a little girl if the other hadn't wanted them to find out, which shows a non-negligible aptitude for acting, as well. Definitely good for the job. Damn.

"Dom Cobb," the older man introduces himself instead – but he can't completely kill the amusement from his face (the traitor).

Eames nods at him before turning to Arthur expectantly. "And don't I get a name, Darling? A moment ago you were getting ready to find my father!" he reminds him with a look that clearly indicates he's having much, _much_ more fun than he should out of this.

Arthur simply slams a folder on the table in front of him, not caring that he's perhaps caught a finger or two – or rather, much too happy about it. "The mission parameters. Read it, then take it or leave it," he replies simply.

"So cold!" Eames says in mock hurt as he opens the file and peruses it leisurely, nodding, humming or tsk-ing his approval or doubts as he leafs through the various pages. He doesn't make it half-way before he shuts it and says, "I'm in!" and gestures for the waitress so he can order a drink.

Arthur feels like being difficult so he huffs as he looks at him. "You haven't even read it all," he notes, not bothering to hide his dislike.

Eames merely raises an eyebrow at him, good mood clearly not hindered. "The moment I talk to people and stay long enough to ask for their names, it generally means I've decided I'll be working with them," he informs him. He then glances at Dom out of the corner of his eyes. "Just like Mr. Cobb – isn't that right?"

Dom nods in satisfaction and leans back in his chair. "What have you heard about me, Mr. Eames?" he asks once the waitress put down the man's drink.

"Enough to be interested, more than enough to be intrigued, but nowhere near enough to my liking," the man admits. "But double-crossing and back-stabbing are unanimously not your style, so it will have to do for now. Besides, I do like a challenge," and he most definitely does turn towards Arthur to raise an eyebrow suggestively at that. (And Arthur most definitely does ignore him at that.)

Dom, in the interest of avoiding homicide, wants the basics covered and tests Eames in his own way before he decides whether he really wants to take him in for the job – understandably, he also wants to get to know the man a bit before they all basically share consciousness. Arthur knows it to be a necessary step, because the experience can be quite disconcerting, and very much overwhelming.

Dom basically lays out the job, the details, the catches, the information or lack thereof they have on hand, and all the while, with every word he says, with every move he makes, Eames is being studied – and is studying them both back, no doubt. They know that strictly professionally speaking he's more than capable of getting the job done, but it's still a necessary step, this final confirmation. Before – before this life – Cobb used his gift to help others through their dreams, he had a natural ability to appeal to their subconscious, and he still has it, life on the wrong side of the law hasn't taken that from him – yet. And Arthur sees it before his friend confirms it to him – Eames has aced the test (and stubbornly he's annoyed, even though objectively, he can see it's because the shape shifter is obviously good at what he does).

Eames knows he's passed with flying colors, too, unless that smug look is always on his face – in all fairness, even from what little he knows of him, Arthur suspects that just may be the case.

Cobb – mind made up – stands up and holds out his hand for the forger to shake. "Do you what you want tonight and if you had plans don't change them on my account; if you're tired tomorrow it won't be a problem," he says as they shake hands. He then walks to the counter to pay the waitress for their drinks, leaving a generous tip to thank her for the discretion.

Eames seems to take this as permission to overstep his boundaries as he turns to face Arthur. "So, Darling—"

"Arthur," is the icy interruption as the point man stands up as well. (He also silently curses himself at that, because it was a reflex, but he never wanted The Man Who Thinks Paisley Is Okay In This Time And Age to know his name – _ever_.)

"So, Arthur Darling," the man continues on with his maddening smile as if Arthur interrupted him with batting eyelashes and a smile, "since Daddy Cobb gave us permission to stay up late, what do you say we go and get tired together?" he asks in all nonchalance as he follows him out.

Arthur nearly snorts in disbelief (how could anyone ever think that such a lame pick-up line would _ever_ work?) before he remembers himself. He's a professional, and if Cobb says 'yay' to having Eames on the job, he's not going to go 'nay', not without a good reason. (Besides, if he behaves, Cobb might let him wake Eames up when they start dreaming together.) "I'm sure you'll be able to think of something fun and tiring to do on your own, Mr. Eames," he tells him instead, and wow, that didn't even sound as biting as he'd intended – Dom would be proud!

Eames laughs warmly at the rebuke, clearly more interested instead of put off – and clearly not caring about catching a hint. "Well I'll just put a bandage on this bleeding heart of mine for the time being and look forward to working more closely with you then," he replies with a casual shrug as his eyes dart around the various people walking by – he's alert, always alert, another good point, _professionally_. When he looks back at Arthur, the man in nowhere to be seen, and his eyes narrow as he looks around carefully before the corners of his lips pull up slightly. "This should be fun, now…" he murmurs to himself before walking off.

Arthur rolls his eyes and doesn't hold back a huff as he watches him go, staying out of the way of the few other pedestrians while they can't see him – he normally tries to avoid turning invisible in public, but he just couldn't help it this time. Cobb steps out of the bar and stops not far from him, raising an eyebrow expectantly before he starts walking, trusting the younger man to follow him.

"Well I don't like him," Arthur informs him in a very matter-of-fact way, visibility seeping back as they walk side by side – the streets are so empty it's safe.

Cobb chuckles, warmth in his eyes – and this makes the other smile, as it's become so rare. "You don't like anyone, Arthur," he reminds him in amusement.

Arthur shrugs in a non-committal manner – in all objectivity, he can't very well deny that. "Although…I just got hit on by a thirty-something-year-old man in the body of a six-year-old girl, Dom. I think I have legitimate reason not to like him," he maintains.

"He _is_ good though. I think he can make it."

"I trust your judgment," the younger man replies. And he leaves it at that because that's really all there is to it in the end, and nothing more needs to be said.

"At least he didn't play footsie under the table," Dom adds after a short moment, as though _really_, this makes all the difference.

Arthur merely huffs. "His shirt assaulted my eyes though," he says just because he likes to be the one with the final word. (And out of the corner of his eyes, he can see that Dom visibly has no counter-argument to that, so…Victory!)

The job isn't too far away now and Arthur knows they will succeed. Both he and Dom have worked the case extensively, have studied every nook and cranny, have read every bit of information they'd had access to – and created the needed access when they lacked it. They'd known when not to be too overconfident and they'd hired Eames, even at the risk of having him disrupt everything (Arthur's opinion, clearly, not Dom's).

Arthur checks his watch – Thursday's almost over; by this time next Thursday the job will be over and done with, they'll be at the airport ready to fly away, and Eames and his paisley shirt would go back to the pit from whence they came. Barely seven days.

Arthur squares his shoulders and brushes off some imaginary dust from his shoulder. He's seen worse. Bring it on.

* * *

Eames shows up with blonde hair slicked back on Friday. He tried to take Cobb's words at heart and enjoy the night, but as luck would have it, of course when he didn't care about being tired he ended up feeling practically agitated when he woke up that morning. So there's a jump to his steps. It's horribly distracting.

Between the gait, the blond do and the green shirt – and could it be his choice in colors could get _worse_? –Arthur's eyes don't know where to settle and his frown deepens just a little more as he feels a headache creeping on. But one little detail (the hair), coupled with the rather _not_ funny joke from the day before brings up a whole new fact: they don't know what Eames looks like, not really – possibly no one does.

"Good morning Arthur Darling!" the man greets him happily as he stops by his desk, leaning his hands on it with no regards for his carefully organized files. His only reply is a cold death-glare but this only pleases him more – he's never liked anything to be too easy. Knowing when not to push his luck however, and being just a bit curious, he pulls back and looks around. "And where is Cobb? I must admit he has managed to pique my interest to the highest level."

"In his office," Arthur replies without raising his eyes from his screen. When the other perches himself atop his desk, obviously looking for more information, he wants to sigh as though the weight of the world rests on his shoulders. "He'll be out momentarily. Do you have any allergies?" he then asks, because he figures he might as well get started on the basics.

"Fishing out information for our first date already?" Eames asks him with a raised eyebrow, clearly amused. "I like French cuisine – you can never go wrong with butter!" he stage-whispers.

"_Medical_ allergies, Mr. Eames," the younger man replies, and yet again he keeps himself from sighing because that would be as close to admitting defeat as it gets. "Sedation is sometimes necessary," he adds then, because in all objectivity that's a pretty important piece of information and everyone might not be comfortable with it.

The forger nods his understanding and turns his head to look out the windows, contemplating this new piece of information. "No allergies, no. But I would like to hear more about this from Cobb himself before I finalize my commitment to this job. You'll understand I need more information than hear-say and rumors can provide, I'm sure," he says off-handedly in a quiet voice, and he's serious – for the first time. Surprisingly, he looks vaguely threatening when he's serious, as if there's an aura around him warning you not to mess with him, because _he'll mess with you right back_.

Arthur nods, and he badly wants to smile but doesn't, because that too would feel like conceding victory. But he's pleased. The couple of others they'd tried to bring in in the past had been all excitement and carelessness (or skepticism and anxiety), evidently not realizing the depth of their involvement; but Eames isn't settling for hazy terms – he wants everything clearly defined, and that certainly warrants Arthur's seal of approval. So he stands from his chair and walks to Dom's door, gently rasping his knuckles on the surface. "Eames is here, Dom," he informs him simply.

Ten minutes later they're seated around a simple table with a cup of coffee in front of them. "Let's start with the beginning, Eames. What have you heard, exactly?" Dom asks without preamble.

The forger nods, gaze unflinching. "That you have the ability to navigate dreams to steal information – what people have come to refer to as 'extraction'. But I suspect there has to be more to it than just that, or you wouldn't need a three-man team," he adds, his eyes flickering to Arthur.

The corners of Dom's lips pull up in a smile. "Go on. Give me your interpretation."

"I've heard through the grapevine that one of your jobs was conducted in a train, which leads me to think that objectively speaking, you can't sit around a mark on a train ride hoping they'll take a nap," he says critically, shaking his head as though the mere idea is laughable – and it is, really; men in their trade can't afford to sit around and wait for something that may not happen. "This added to Arthur's mention of sedatives leads me to the conclusion that you can _force_ the dreaming process, perhaps even create and then control it entirely. And that also includes _who_ you bring into it. Correct me if I'm wrong," he finishes somewhat complacently, adding another spoonful of sugar to his coffee – Arthur cringes, because that would make it the fourth and that's just _wrong_.

"You get points for observation," Dom compliments, wrapping a hand around his own mug, but not bringing it to his lips. "I can indeed control the whole dreaming process. All I need is for the subject to be asleep – even quite relaxed will do if they open their mind to me – and then I can control every aspect of it," he confirms. "Yet I need someone to act as the 'dreamer' – the source for the setting, if you will. That's why an additional person is needed if the extraction is to be performed efficiently."

"And you can't do this 'dreamer' part yourself?" the forger asks with a frown, puzzled.

"Oh, I can," Dom replies simply.

"I sense there's a 'but' coming up," Eames says knowingly.

"But the subconscious can always tell when someone's meddling," Arthur intervenes, hand gesturing to accompany his explanation. "If Cobb goes on his own, it makes achieving the goal – theft – much more difficult because the more he meddles, the more the subconscious attunes itself to him and ends up attacking – like white cells fighting off an infection."

"So the extra passengers are – what, diversions?" Eames summarizes.

"In essence, yes," the point man replies.

"Why a three-man team then? I would think you make an excellent distraction," the shape shifter notes in amusement, simply winking at the other's murderous look.

Dom so badly wants to smirk, but friendship and loyalty win over and he replies with a steady voice, "It works better if someone distracts the mark, and another drives off the projections while I do the extraction." He decides not to talk about dreams within dreams yet. Better leave him some time to adapt fully to one level before adding the other.

"Projections?" the man repeats with a frown.

"Projections of the subject's subconscious to populate the dream – the white cells I mentioned," Arthur explains, his tone a bit more annoyed than it been a minute ago.

"Obviously with your skillset, I'm looking to have you distract the subject himself," Dom continues. He then pushes his chair back from the table and stands up. "But all this talk of theories won't mean much to you unless there is some practice to it. If my offer still piques your interest," he begins with a knowing smile, using his words from before, "then I invite you to drink your coffee."

Eames looks down at his cup with a raised eyebrow as he tentatively sniffs it, not smelling anything off. "This your doing, Darling?" he asks Arthur with a raised eyebrow.

The point man may or may not be smiling as he holds out a hand and a small capsule appears in it – probably the one to have held the sedative that was released in his coffee. "Oops," he says simply, finally allowing himself to derive _some_ amusement from it all.

The forger looks at them both critically, and then contemplates his drink. He has been given a choice, it's entirely up to him – Arthur had slipped the sedative in, they could have just said nothing, watched him drink it, and then do God knows what. Telling him was an olive branch, a sign of tentative trust, a solid offer for a solid partnership – and if he's honest with himself, his mind's been made up since meeting them in the diner. "Cheers then," he says as he holds up his mug and drinks a few gulps. "Although I would like it noted for future reference that in true British fashion I prefer tea over coffee," he says with an air of importance as he stands up and walks to plop down in the couch not too far to the side.

Arthur rolls his eyes as Dom sits next to the man, taking in a deep breath in to get ready as the other's breathing becomes more relaxed. "I bet that accent's fake anyway," he mutters as he takes a seat in front of them to monitor the experiment.

"You wound me, Darling," Eames mumbles sleepily before his head lulls to the side.

Dom grabs his wrist to check his vitals and nods in satisfaction. "Wake me in ten minutes," he tells his friend. "I'll be the dreamer to his subconscious first."

"Ten minutes? Not five?" Arthur asks with a frown. Five minutes is their usual period for first-timers.

The older man shakes his head with a serious look, amusement somehow mixing in. "No, I get the feeling Mr. Eames will take to this quite quickly. Ten minutes," he confirms before he leans back in the sofa and closes his eyes. "I want to see how much I can meddle before either of us snaps awake."

Arthur simply nods and sets the timer on ten minutes, then leans back in his chair to study the forger. His appearance hasn't changed, which could either mean that this is his real look, or that he can maintain a shift even when unconscious – and he's not sure whether this would be good or bad; how can you ever truly trust someone when they don't even trust you to know what they look like?

Eames draws a shuddering breath, and then is quiet again, while Dom is now smiling unconsciously, and Arthur thinks back on the first time he was shown this dream world. He hadn't been on the wrong side of the law yet, back then. He had been a friend to Dominick and Mallorie Cobb, ever since the day he'd met them both in the busy faculty halls in Paris when he'd been an exchange student for a semester (law school, to please his parents). Dom had been the first to reassure him that having a special ability didn't necessarily mean that his life had to be changed radically, that instead it could simply be a part of it, even make it better. Mal instead had been the first to show him that that he just had to look closely enough at things and then he'd see the good in them (even if her teachings never really took as he's always been too pragmatic for his own good) – and he still doesn't know how she did it, but she could always tell people like them apart. Dom was always sporting a peaceful smile back then, radiating confidence and general contentment, although his mind was always stretched over so many things at once, so many possibilities. And Mal was radiant: the world just seemed to shine brighter whenever she was around – as cheesy as it sounds, the sun would be warmer, the flowers would bloom, the birds would sing, even the rain sparkled – and she would always smile encouragingly and tell him not to bury himself in a shade of his own creation for other people's benefit, to embrace his gift and truly be himself, to be the Arthur he wants to be.

Ironic that it had taken her death for him to do that.

He'd seen the difference over the months it took; the world was dull whenever she was around – clouds hid the sun, plants withered, birds stopped singing as if waiting for the proverbial pin to drop, rain was cold and piercing – and then she'd jumped off a ledge to her death, leaving behind two confused children and one devastated husband who was accused of murdering her.

To this day he still doesn't understand what happened, why Mal did that. But one look at Dom and their children, James and Philippa, and Arthur knew that he wouldn't let him down, that 'the Arthur he wants to be' is a man who would do anything to help his friends. Even leave his life, his ties, his safety, and his shade – all of it – leave it all behind without a second glance if it means he can help his friend. And ironically, having studied law has so far always given him a certain advantage when it comes to cheating the system he had once planned to stand up for.

Briefly he wonders what brought Eames to this kind of life, whether it was some tragic episode or a simple need for amusement, for new challenges to constantly better his mastery of his ability – it's probably the latter, he thinks. The forger neither looks nor behave like someone who's had a tragic past – unless he's still in denial or simply an excellent actor (and in all honesty that last possibility isn't completely out of the question yet).

The timer sounds at this, breaking through his daze, and he stands to shake Dom's shoulder. "Ten minutes are up," he tells him in a strong voice.

Both men open their eyes at this, Eames raising a hand to rub his temples, still a bit sleepy from the sedative. Inwardly Arthur takes a moment to be surprised that neither awoke with a gasp, signifying an abrupt, _deadly_ end to the dream. But it probably means that they also simply _talked_ a lot, since in the dream world at least Cobb can be sure no one will overhear them.

"Bloody…" the forger mutters, trailing off with a shake of his head. "That was something!" He exhales loudly as he leans his head back on the couch and laughs breathlessly. "I'm in, if that wasn't clear enough already," he says suddenly, turning to face them.

Dom nods and stands up to go back to his office, and they hear a metallic sound before a relieved sigh.

"It's taxing for him," Arthur replies in a tone that makes it clear he won't say anything more as Eames looks at him with a raised eyebrow – and he's not sure he wants to explain about totems yet…

Cobb comes out of his office and leans on the doorframe, crossing his arms over his chest. "Arthur, I'm sending you both back under for five minutes so you can teach him the basics," he begins. "Ok with you?"

Arthur nods, although not exactly thrilled to share a dream with the forger so soon; but if Cobb is starting the training on the first day already, it means that as he suspected Eames took to it quickly and easily. "Alright," he replies simply as he sits down on the couch next to the still drowsy man. "My subconscious or his?"

"His, for now. I have a hunch yours wouldn't wait to be truly disturbed before tearing him to shreds," the older man replies in a rare display of teasing affection.

Arthur can't deny that – even smiles at the thought as he raises an eyebrow. "I have _no_ idea what you're implying."

"Pardon me for interrupting but – five minutes?" the forger asks with a frown.

"Your brain functions are heightened when you're asleep. Our near two hours of dreaming only amounted to ten minutes here," Cobb explains as he takes Arthur's previous seat in front of them.

Eames nods, satisfied with the explanation and Arthur thinks he's never seen someone who accepts and integrates information that quickly. "No sedative for you?" he asks the younger man curiously.

"I trust him," is all the point man replies as he closes his eyes and relaxes, letting Dom access his mind and begin the shared dreaming.

Eames' first words when he opens his eyes to the dream are:

"Darling, why the austerity? You mustn't be afraid to dream a little bigger!"

And Arthur knows that with time the forger is either going to be driven mad by the dreamscapes, or become way too good at merging with them, and he's not sure which option is really the worst.

Only six days to go.

* * *

On Saturday Eames settles back into dark hair, but bangs fall into his eyes, which are now a startling hazel color. Arthur's fairly certain he's also a couple of inches taller, but he's not giving him the satisfaction of standing up to confirm it.

Today Cobb wants Eames to experiment being the dreamer, so he can get a better grasp on every aspect of the mission, and Arthur is once more roped into being his dream-partner and teacher – but with Eames as the dreamer and Arthur the subject this time, while Cobb remains the silent observer.

The point man scoffs as he opens his eyes. "A British boarding school? _Really_, Mr. Eames?" he asks with a raised eyebrow, because that is clearly lacking in imagination.

"Well I didn't want to startle you with wild scenes right from the start, Darling," the forger replies, strolling next to him looking a good twenty years younger and flopping about in his uniform. "I thought someplace _proper_ might better suit your tastes," he adds, and though it isn't really an insult it's definitely teasing – even condescending, and that's just _wrong_ coming from a ten-year old.

"I'm not sure I'm comfortable with you not changing the way you speak when taking on a child's appearance," Arthur informs him because he can't help himself. The other shrugs and next he knows he's shifted once more, adding ten years but keeping the uniform.

"In all fairness I was also hoping the uniform would be to your liking," the young teasing voice informs him as he smiles predatorily.

"We're here to work, gentlemen, so shall we?" Dom interrupts with a small grin, hands in his pockets as he casually leans against a wall – because he's seen Arthur shoot people out of dreams for less than that.

Eames shifts back to his 'usual' appearance (but they'll never really know if it's real, will they?) and gestures with an arm and a bow for them to go ahead.

Arthur wonders if it's too soon to teach him the only way to escape a dream on your own – and has to battle the urge to push him out a window all along (and it doesn't help that half the walls are giant windows). But all in good time.

Five days left.

* * *

Sunday sees them dream-sharing most of the time they're in their base. Cobb nods in satisfaction as they emerge for the last time, and as he stands to walk towards the back of the warehouse to his private little office, he throws, "He'll need a totem," over his shoulder before he closes the door. Arthur knows this indicates that Eames has just been given approval for field work.

"A 'totem'? Obviously I'm going to assume he's not referring to Native American wooden poles carved with animal guardian spirits," Eames deadpans as he raises an eyebrow at the point man, tone both amused and condescending. His hair is wavy today, still in dark tones as his eyes take on a grayish blue tint – but he has a _horrible_ mustard jacket that completely destroys his attempt at normalcy.

"Obviously not, Mr. Eames," Arthur replies with a smile that really means 'keep this up and I will hurt you badly, possibly kill you and never worry because I know I'll be able to make it look like an accident'. (Whoever said Arthur isn't an expressive man has simply never looked hard enough. He's the uncontested master of threatening smiles.) But still, no matter how much he wishes he could be elsewhere, he has to explain this until Eames understands it; because while he may constantly wish the man harm – and moreover to inflict said harm himself – losing yourself between dream and reality is not something he'd wish on his worst enemy, truthfully; and sure, Eames is annoying as Hell, but he's no enemy. Even he can admit to that. "It would be an object – a personal one – that has a specificity—" (he refuses to rise to the bait as the man mouths 'specificity' while somehow raising that eyebrow even higher) "—that only you know about," he explains with the tired and practiced tone of someone who's done it many times before and knows he'll have to say it again.

But Eames simply nods, as though the whole thing makes perfect sense, and buries his hands into his pants pockets as he seemingly contemplates it. "So what's yours?" he asks with more glee than this should warrant as he leans back against the other's neatly organized desk.

Arthur raises an eyebrow a little in surprise because it's rare that people don't ask more about it before latching onto his. But then he frowns slightly, because he'd just said _'that only you know about'_, so he's – of course – not about to answer that question.

Eames visibly sees it and smiles that God-awful smug smile. "Why, Darling, you've got to show me yours if you expect me to make up mine _just so_," he tells him with something close to a purr in his voice.

The point man has to physically ground himself to the desk as he keeps repeating '_I promised Cobb not to kill him'_ like a mantra in his head (and well…his promise doesn't encompass _dreams_, so there'll be other opportunities).

The forger must see this as he shakes his head and his eyes dart around cautiously – looking for Dominick Cobb, the man who stands between him and Death, no doubt. "I mean I get the idea, but not the reason, not exactly," he starts, and he looks actually serious about the issue, for a change. "How does a particular object – no matter its _specificity_—" (and _damn him_ he cannot help but grin at this—and how can he even manage to make that word sound _dirty_?!) "—will allow me to ensure that I'm no longer in one of Cobb's little daydreams?"

Which is a perfectly valid point and question, Arthur is forced to admit – he just wishes Cobb would have taken his turn to explain it this time. "If only you now about your totem, Cobb or the dreamer he uses won't be able to reproduce it exactly," he answers with perfectly faked annoyance at the exuberant man and his painfully flamboyant shirt. With a sigh that speaks of infinite pain and the weight of the World on his shoulders, he pulls out his totem and holds the red die up. "I'm the only one who knows the way it's loaded." His eyes narrow in silent dare to even _try_ and take it from him.

Eames doesn't, though, merely trails his gaze over it, cocking his head from side to side. "So if you throw it and it's not the same specific number that keeps coming out, then you know someone else imagined it," he understands, all business-like as the concept and its importance are grasped. He then frowns slightly as he rubs the stubble on his chin. "Although, Cobb – or the dreamer, whichever – would have one chance out of six in that case. What if by a stroke of luck – bad luck on your side – they get the right one?"

"It's not a perfect system," Arthur replies with a small shrug, well aware of its weaknesses. "But it's better than nothing."

"Of course," Eames agrees as though it's obvious, he's been working like this all his life, and none of this is even new to him – and Arthur is momentarily surprised because it's rare for the man to act anything even remotely close to _professional_ without Dom's supervision or out of the dreams and he cannot dare imagine that he will keep it this way. "If nothing too grand is required, then I already have something, a good luck charm of sorts." There the frown vanishes and the smug flirting grin is back. "Since you showed me yours, I'll show you mine – although I'd prefer less clothing involved in the future, Darling," he says as he holds up a red poker chip.

Arthur is momentarily too curious to think about murder and he cocks his head to the side as he looks at the simple piece of red plastic. There doesn't seem to be anything particular about it, except that it's obviously been around in a pocket for a long time and is a bit worn. His first instinct is that it's too generic, but as Eames runs it over his knuckles in a familiar way, he figures that its weight and wear would be nearly impossible to replicate well enough to fool the forger, who if rumor is to be believed is one of the best observers in the business (and has already clearly proved to have a mean eye for details). '_Yes, that should do the trick_', he wants to say. Instead he says, "Now that you understand, get yourself off my desk, Mr. Eames, and go do the work you're actually here for," and turns to his computer screen, going back to working and easily ignoring the other.

As usual Eames is neither offended nor annoyed nor put off. "As you wish," he simply says although he takes his time in getting up and going back to his own desk, greatly enjoying himself.

Four days.

* * *

Eames' eyes are green on Monday. Arthur, by then, is way past caring about the shape shifter's ever-changing appearance, but to his displeasure he hasn't been able to stop noticing yet. Eames' eyes are green and they clash horribly with his orange shirt. (Although what _wouldn't_? Arthur is getting more and more tempted to set the things on fire, or spill something on him – but then Eames being Eames would smirk and say he's done it on purpose to get him to take his shirt off and then he'd really be forced to kill him and Dom wouldn't be happy about it. Oh, the agony.)

The forger looks at him then, lazily lounging in his chair, feet propped up on his desk and smug smile on as though he _knows_ what he's thinking about. "I know what you're thinking about, Darling," he comments off-handedly. _Bingo_.

"Indeed, I should hope you'd know when one of your associates is contemplating your assassination," Arthur replies easily as he briefly re-reads his email to their contact before hitting the 'send' button.

Eames just laughs, his green, _green_ eyes full of mirth. "Oh, Arthur…being at the forefront of your thoughts, even if they are murderous, is all I can ever hope for!" he replies happily, absently going over the files that had been left on his desk the night before.

Arthur wants to retort that nobody has eyes that green and that he's therefore being anything but discreet, but he really doesn't want to look like he _pays attention_, so instead he glances at the clock once more and hopes that Cobb will get there soon.

Eames' eyes are green today and Arthur feels like ripping them out of his head. (And it really has nothing to do with how he can't seem to help being always drawn back to them and just _wonder_ what color they _really _are.)

Three days left to endure.

* * *

A brazen redhead practically jumps through the door on Tuesday, and Cobb joins Arthur in his frowning this time – granted though, his expression is more amused than aggravated.

"You look…_lively_ today, Eames," the extractor comments carefully, the corner of his lips pulling up.

Arthur tries to remain impassive, but really he can't help it this time. The combination of carrot-colored hair, moss-green trousers and yellow-themed paisley shirt – and assorted shoes – is too much. He has to look away with a groan. Briefly he wonders whether his eyes will ever recover from the aggression – and, barring that, if his health insurance would cover the rehabilitation process.

Which is apparently exactly what Eames wanted as he bursts out laughing and shifts back to a more sober appearance (he kept a colorfully ugly shirt, of course; it's just a slightly less visually offensive shade now). "Oh, Darling, the look on your face!"

Cobb laughs too, unable to stop and only able to shrug an apology when Arthur shoots him a warning look. "Sorry Arthur!"

"Loosen up, Arthur, come on!" Eames admonishes as he spreads out his arms, as if taking the whole wide World as his witness.

This is not to the point man's liking. "We have a job to do in barely two days, so I really doubt now is the time to act like children – and this applies to the both of you!"

Arthur does not forgive betrayal; Dom knows he'll pay for laughing in some subtle (or not) way later. But for now he just can't stop laughing.

The forger rolls his eyes at this. "And that's exactly why _now_'s the perfect time to have a good laugh!" he argues. "You're too wound up! Live a little!"

"Well you're too lively! Wound down some!" is the point man's brilliant retort – honestly he would have laughed at that if it didn't equal laughing at himself. And if he were a lesser man he'd turn invisible and storm off to sulk somewhere else.

Dom, the vile traitor that is he is, is hiding his mouth behind a hand as though it actually _works_ and hides his amusement and muffled laughter from the others – Arthur will make sure to set his delusions right later.

Eames sports an unashamed shit-faced grin as he fills the kettle and ruffles through the cupboards for his (so-called) secret stash of tea. "We'll get that stick out the mud yet, Arthur Darling," is all he says with a wink.

Later, when asked how he can stand the shape shifter and _laugh at his jokes_, Dom simply chuckles and replies: "Come on, Arthur! It could be worse." And before Arthur can ask _how_, he adds: "He could have your ability."

It's a perfectly valid point, one that Arthur hadn't thought of before. All things considered, Dom is right (and damn it, Dom is always right, he should know that by now!). An invisible Eames would kill him – or compel him to murder. So he calms down and takes a deep breath. Looks at his watch. Tuesday's almost over.

Two days.

* * *

He can do this. Now he's not so sure anymore he's really seen worse, but bring it on.

On Wednesday, strangely enough, Eames looks normal. No too-green eyes, no wild red hair, no hideously colored shirt, or paisley! (And yes, that last point deserves an exclamation point. His eyes certainly welcome the break.) Arthur figures it really shouldn't be so surprising, all things considered: their job, their first job together is tomorrow, and as usual in their business, failure to prepare accordingly can mean total failure, which has been known to lead to incarceration or even death – painful death even in certain cases. They want to avoid that, obviously – enter strategy, placing the pieces right where they should be.

They share a dream, with Arthur playing the mark, and try to act out the possible scenarios, try to foresee everything that could go wrong and have the right solutions ready. They test emergency exits – Eames is still uncomfortable with the whole notion of shooting himself (or someone else) awake, but they make do.

It's an easy job, practically your corporate espionage 101: the man has a meeting in town and will be staying at a lavish grand hotel – and three guesses as to who will be making sure the drink(s) he'll have at the bar with his clients will include sedatives? Arthur will easily slip into the room with him afterwards and open the door for the other two when the man hits the pillows with a loud snore. Easy – it's more of a test, really, to see whether it's a good plan to consider calling onto Eames more regularly in the future. The forger has to know this, too, but he still remains serious as they play out another outcome.

It's when they clear out their hideout and agree to meet back the day after that Arthur realizes the shape shifter hasn't called him any pet names today. He doesn't really know what to make of this thought, but he decides he's not going to let it distract him. (Except it's a bit too late for that, but he doesn't need to acknowledge it.)

One (blessed) day.

* * *

Thursday's come and gone, and the job with it.

Ah. The Job. What to say about The Job?

Arthur figures he could say that it went well – no, more than well, it was a sound success! Their target has just been stripped bare of all business contingency plans but will never be the wiser as to how it happened – and for this, they've each received a nice 'little' paycheck.

He could say that Dom looked really relieved when it was over, although whether he was relieved that they'd managed the job without any problems, or simply managed to do it without killing each other, Arthur isn't sure.

He could say that he was looking forward to spending a couple of weeks back home, back to the normalcy of life on the legal side of things, spending time thinking of ways to invest or spend his share of the payload.

He could say a lot…

…And really he couldn't say much while completely avoiding mentioning Eames. The forger is…every bit as good as the rumors describe him – insufferable, annoying, with an innate ability to try the patience of a Saint, but damn efficient at his job. And considering this was his first dream job, his abilities only came out of it highlighted.

Arthur absolutely hates the mere thought as it crosses his mind, but as far as The Job itself went in its execution, working with Eames has been as easy as breathing air. In everyday life, every time he asked Eames to go left, he'd go right just to aggravate him, but when they were working, it was seamless. More often than not, he didn't even have to tell him what to do; he'd just anticipate the right moves, flawlessly – the perfect game.

Only Dom has ever been able to make him feel so secure in the past, but Dom's a _friend_, first and foremost. The point man glares at the forger out of the corner of his eyes at this, because _clearly_, it's his entire fault (whatever 'it' actually is). The other is oblivious as they're holding their boarding passes – well, actually his is in his pocket, no way he's letting the shape shifter find out where he's flying to! – while looking at the boards for their respective terminals.

Eames smiles easily as his eyes take in the date displayed on the clock over their heads. "Only 27 days to our next meeting, Darling," he says quite naturally before sighing sadly. "I will miss you dearly, and think of you quite often with much fondness!" he promises with a wink before nodding at Cobb and strolling away to his boarding gate.

Arthur glares daggers at his retreating back before he huffs and makes his way to his own plane without so much as a glance towards his friend (that and he also calls Cobb a backstabbing traitor in his head for offering the forger another job without telling him about it first).

He absolutely hates it that some hours later, when he looks up at the screen that displays the plane's current location and time, he sees that it's Friday, and thinks that it's now only 26 days left and a part of him (that he's seriously considering segregating) nearly looks forward to it.

He bites his peanuts more viciously than they'd deserve and asks for another glass of wine. But the businesswoman sitting next to him stops her flirting attempts and doesn't talk to him again for the rest of the flight – so at least one good thing came out of it.

It gives him the time he needs and wants to review the recent events in his mind, going over their every move to see what could be – _should be_ – improved.

Somehow he can't bring himself to be overly satisfied when it turns out there really isn't much that they'll need to work on. He's not sure what that implies.

He's not sure he wants to know.

* * *

It's 23 days later that Cobb phones him. Which is good because somehow since he started breaking the law in the last couple of years he's never felt too good _being_ good, strangely, like the longer he stays put, the more exposed he becomes – exposed to _what_, though, he's not sure; but it's a feeling he can't shake off. Meeting up with the family is good, the week-end that it lasts, but he can't put up for long with the guilt trip he's always subjected to for flushing away his nicely carved-out-path-and-career to… "To do _what_, exactly, Arthur?" his father asks with a deep sigh every time. Arthur's scared that one day he'll just end up telling them, so he makes it a point to keep his visits as short as can be.

"I'll see you in two days in Istanbul if you're still up for it," Dom tells him.

Arthur raises an eyebrow at this. "And why wouldn't I be?" he asks as he looks over at his wardrobe, mentally selecting the lighter suits in prevision of the warmer weather.

"Eames will be there."

"Oh, right. Remind me why again?" he asks although he'll go along with the plan regardless.

"Because it's obviously my life's purpose to be the bane of yours," is Dom's thoughtful reply.

"No, since meeting Eames I'd say you've got competition on that," Arthur deadpans, just as serious.

Dom laughs at this. "I'll see you in two days. Eames will get there the day after. Enjoy your flight!"

Arthur wants to retort something biting but he doesn't have it in his heart to bring Dom down when he's enjoying himself – because unlike the man, he's a _good friend_, not a conspirator who laughs at the first stutter of a bad joke. So he just sighs and checks his passport for the third time to ensure it's all in order – which it is, evidently.

However when he gets to their new Turkish hideout, a horrible shirt assaults his eyes and he wants to groan – but he doesn't, he's got a reputation to think of after all, and he wouldn't want to give the other the satisfaction.

"I know I'm a day early, Darling, but I was jumping up and down in excitement as a schoolgirl so I thought 'why wait?' and came over right away!" is Eames' grand welcoming address. (And truly Arthur tries hard not to think about it, because clearly Eames said _as_ a schoolgirl, and he knows that with him it's literally possible…) "I missed you," he tells him quite simply, spreading out his arms widely.

Arthur pointedly ignores the gesture as he walks past him to set his briefcase on an empty desk – the farthest one from the forger's. "I didn't," he replies.

"I meant it," the shape shifter insists with a smug grin.

"So did I – fancy that!" the point man replies with mock surprise.

Eames laughs at this and doesn't say any more on the matter. Instead, he sets out to tell him what he dubs 'an hilarious tale' which happened on his flight, complete with acting out the protagonists (a stewardess and a bossy businesswoman) with their voices – and there's just something strange about different voices coming from the same person, particularly women's voices when a man's speaking, but in the end, Arthur realizes (with some dismay) that he's getting used to it.

Cobb walks back in just in time to hear the punch line (and the point man laughing despite himself), and he raises an eyebrow in surprise at this scene – but wisely decides against commenting on it.

* * *

This job, while not as basic and 'easy' as their previous one, isn't a life-threatening puzzle. They're confident they'll be able to pull it off in roughly three weeks – two, if certain things fall into place the way they hope they will. Working together is as smooth as it was the last time, even better since they already know each other a bit better. Dom and Arthur don't even look up anymore when Eames strolls about with a completely different appearance than the last time they saw him – and this time lapse can be as short as bathroom breaks.

Arthur cocks his head to the side as he considers this. Dom and his ability are visibly the core of their heists; he shows, explains, _and engulfs_ them with it, because everything they do is about it, _thanks_ _to_ it. Eames has proven himself an amazing shape shifter, with the advantage of not being limited to shifting only his own mass – men, women, children, he could change any and every thing. And he visibly doesn't bother hiding it, at least not from them – which, granted, would be moot as his ability is heavily used in the dream-sharing anyway. Mal he remembers would always trail her fingers on the petals or leaves of flowers and plants around her, distractedly, even if they were in a public place, and then she'd smile brightly and soft laughter would bubble out when the plants would suddenly look so _alive_, when flowers bloomed and leaves regained their color. But Arthur himself, in a direct echo of his ability, has always been more discreet about it. It's not that he hides it, _per se_; it's more that he doesn't talk about it, or use it all that much outside of a job.

So of course it figures that Eames would bring it up one day. "It must be quite fun," he says out of the blue, without further development.

The forger could be talking about any number of things, so the point man doesn't look up from his newspaper. Currently, they're seated at a café not far from the train station, waiting for Dom. When the silence stretches on, Arthur sighs and looks up at him – he's a middle-aged man today, with salt-and-pepper hair, so he somewhat feels like he got left behind to keep watch on the weird uncle Eames while daddy Cobb is off doing something fun. "What do you mean?"

"Your talent – and I don't mean excelling at everything you do while looking astonishingly good doing it," and he doesn't even look ashamed to be saying that out loud in public. "The more discreet one."

"Why do you ask?" the younger man asks back, ignoring the flirting as he's puzzled.

Eames smiles, shrugging a little as he studies the people around them. "Because it really must be quite fun," he says simply. "Blending in…it's what I do for a living. I can go unnoticed if I have to, but you…it's on another level!" he looks truly fascinated by the concept, which is surprising.

Arthur shrugs to hide his discomfort, folding his paper and holding himself back from folding it again (and again). "It's…I don't know if I would call it 'fun', really…" he replies truthfully, remembering when it first began manifesting itself, at a time of his life when he wanted to be anything _but_ invisible.

Eames notices this but angles the talk into funny territory once more. "Are you telling me you've never played pranks on people? Pulled tricks on them?" he asks in mock-shock.

"Somehow I'm under the impression that you've done _that_ enough for the both of us," the point man replies with a chuckle.

"I very well can't deny that, Darling," is the other's reply, warm eyes creased in amusement. "What happens if people walk into you? I assume you'd have to be even more careful," he muses, voicing his curiosity once more.

"It takes practice. Like everything – like you had to, I'm sure," Arthur replies.

Eames grins at this and nods. "Indeed. Can you do it to other people? We…haven't really tested that during our experiments…"

Arthur looks him in the eyes for a few seconds as he ponders whether he should answer or not. After all, they haven't really known each other for that long. But as insufferable as the man can be, he's proven himself reliable, and so far trustworthy. It's a gamble. He decides to try for it. "If I'm touching them, yes," he tells him after a short silence.

He gets a nod and a contemplative smile in reply. "It must really be quite fun…" the other murmurs once more, closing off the conversation.

Arthur wants to reply that really, shape shifting seems the more fun, but he wouldn't want Eames to get cocky, so he goes back to his newspaper and reads more about the impending skyrocketing mortgage interest rates and their expected impact on the housing market.

* * *

So perhaps he doesn't really pay attention to Eames' perpetual shape shifting anymore, but it doesn't stop Arthur from frowning in distaste every time the forger makes himself a cup of tea.

"Would you like some?" Eames asks innocently, light green eyes a sharp contrast to the tanned skin tone he seems to have adopted these days.

"No thanks. But how about some tea to go with your sugar?" the point man asks back as he eyes the third spoonful that is being added to the hot drink.

Eames just grins. "I'm getting there," he replies easily. "But still, are you sure I can't tempt you with a cup? I'll let you add your own sugar," he promises.

"No thanks. Too hot," Arthur replies, very proud of himself for not smiling although he really wanted to.

"Ah, yes, well if you'll permit a comment – suits aren't exactly the best suited wear when it's over 30°C outside," the older man notes musingly. "Although of course, you do look dashing in them, Darling, this was by no means a complaint!"

Arthur wants to reply that his suits are still better than paisley shirts, but that would be childish and petty, and he decided years ago that his reputation permitted him to be neither.

A beeping sound interrupts them and out of reflexes Arthur's eyes go to his phone, although he knows it doesn't make that kind of sound.

"Ah, I believe this one is mine," Eames says with a surprisingly serious expression as he pulls out a small device and nods.

"Who still has a pager?" Arthur asks despite himself.

"Why, obviously _I_ do!" the man replies with a wide smile as though having a pager is amazing and _fun_. "Now Darling, I'm sorry to run out on you like this, but I have to take this!" he says as he bows his head slightly and makes for the exit, tea completely forgotten.

Arthur is curious but he won't say anything – he won't let himself. Still, when Dom comes back half an hour later and asks him about the forger's whereabouts, the point man is peeved that he can't answer – and even more annoyed that he's quite curious, too. When Eames comes back, not too long after, the man looks more relaxed, there's even a soft smile hanging on his lips.

Arthur is definitely not asking him about it. He won't let himself.

But damn it does he wonder!

* * *

The pager doesn't beep into existence anymore, and the preparation, then execution of the job goes smoothly. They work well together – they're smart men, the best in their trade, so put them together and then give them the hours of tryouts that dream-sharing can offer, and they're unstoppable, a well-oiled machine despite having been assembled only recently.

"Well that's that, then," Dom says without further ado as they step pas the security check-point at the Istanbul Atatürk international airport. "I don't have anything lined up yet, but I'll be sure to let you know if I do," he tells them.

Eames nods as he shakes his hand. "Looking forward to it," he assures him. He then turns towards the point man and smiles. "Well then I'll just be counting the days until we meet again, Arthur Darling," he teases before he picks up Arthur's hand (which the other man naively held out to shake) and brings it to his lips. "Don't forget me," he says in a low voice, his warm breath tickling his skin before he winks and steps towards his boarding gate.

Arthur _knows_ that people (including Dom, who's doing a piss-poor job of hiding his amusement) are staring and it takes every ounce of self-control that he has not to turn invisible. Eames is really completely oblivious to the limits he shouldn't cross. As usual, the shape shifter just does what he wants, and never mind the number of onlookers!

The point man clears his throat as he walks off trying to act casual. What bothers him the most though is that really…he didn't mind.

He hates that fact.

* * *

To be continued…

Just a quick word : this is mostly written, I'm just editing and writing the transitions, so it will definitely be completed (and this year, I hope! Lol).

Thanks for reading and hope to see you at the next chapter!

Renn


	2. Heads (not) in the Game

Aaaand chapter 2! I was hoping for some more feedback before I posted this but I figured since I've got people following it I'm doing something right - right? :)  
Besides work has been keeping me pretty busy so I have to post when I get the chance!

Enjoy!

* * *

Cobb rarely does jobs on his own; Arthur knows this – he made him promise, actually. But he's the one to look around and _find_ said jobs, and then he contacts his partner in crime. If more people are needed, generally he's the one to sniff them out, interview them, recruit them, and then submit them to the point man's approval (not necessarily always in that order though). But really, Arthur's job begins when Cobb has already decided on a target and agreed on a paycheck.

Which is the case as Dom contacts him one evening a couple of months later; so he sits in front of his computer so that they can have a conversation via webcam. "How soon can you be in Moscow?" the extractor asks him with a small grin.

"What, you mean you haven't already booked me a ticket?" the younger man asks back with a raised eyebrow.

"Wasn't sure where you were, so no," is the easy reply. "Can you be there by next week?"

"I'll be there by the end of this one," Arthur replies. And then, _completely_ without his brain's notice nor consent, he casually adds: "I'll let Eames know." Because that also falls under the scope of what he does, sometimes.

The image isn't all that great, but _damn it_ he can _see_ Dom raise an eyebrow. "I didn't say we'd need him…" Oh he's such a bad actor – and a worse friend.

"Oh—well, all the better then." Arthur is not flustered – he _refuses_ to give the other the satisfaction.

"No, no, call him. It's good – we _do_ need him actually." Worst friend ever. "And there will be someone else, too."

"Who?" the point man asks with a frown – four people means a big job. (Well, that and also he doesn't like anyone.)

"Nash," Dom replies, raising a hand to placate him before he can voice his complaints. "Now I know you don't like him, but then again—"

"I don't like anyone, I know," Arthur replies tiredly, not willing to argue on this – they've done it enough times already in the past – and besides, it's true. "You're the boss. I'll trust your judgment. I'll be there," is all he says as he moves to cut off the connection.

"Don't forget to call Eames!" is all he hears before the image vanishes. (And this makes it somewhat official: Dominick Cobb is the worst best friend in the World.)

He feels like hitting his head on the table repeatedly, but seeing as it wouldn't really solve anything and only give him a headache he doesn't indulge in the thought.

Arthur dislikes it, but he actually stalls as much as he can before calling Eames. It's not that he's opposed to working with him again – quite the opposite actually, especially if he's going to have to put up with Nash – but tolerating him and _calling him_ are two completely different things. And Cobb – again, the vile lousy best friend that he is – only vaguely said he was busy with vague things in a vague way before hanging up when the point man asked him to call the forger himself. So it is that with a heavy sigh and a glare at his phone, he dials the insufferable shape shifter's number and ends up making that call, simultaneously hoping for and against getting sent to voice mail.

"_Miss me that badly, Darling?_" is the cocky reply – a woman's voice, so the other's either being cautious, or he's in the middle of a job (or he could just be off doing whatever it is that he does do to pass the time when he's not breaking the law with them).

"Is this a bad time?" Arthur asks without preamble, because if it isn't, he doesn't want to waste any time, and if it is, he doesn't want to jeopardize anything – but then again Eames wouldn't have picked up if it was really putting him into any kind of danger.

It's a male voice that answers more quietly and he's strangely reassured by that. "_No, no need to fret. Tell me – job offer?_" he asks back, without the flirting, as if sensing his apprehension that he might be interrupting something tricky.

"Yes. How do you feel about Moscow?"

"_Nondescript. You?_"

Arthur wants to reply that he's not fond of the cold, but then he thinks that Eames will just blaze back some mighty flirting about how he'd gladly keep him warm. But then again, his mouth does the speaking before his brain is done with the thinking. "Not overly fond of the cold."

Eames gives a short laugh at that. "_As I recall you weren't overly fond of the heat, either,_" he says in remembrance of Turkey.

The point man is momentarily taken aback by the lack of flirting and the civil way the other is behaving – this won't last, it _can't_ last, he thinks. "Cobb and I will be there by next week. Come over as soon as you can – if you're interested, that is."

"_Oh I'm always interested in what you offer_," Eames says and it sounds like there's a double sense to it, but just barely – not enough to get offended. "_Presently I need to finish up with something, but this shouldn't take more than a few days. You can expect me there by the middle of next week."_

"Good. I'll send you the address," Arthur replies. He then thinks of something else, figuring the other might want to know. "We're bringing someone else in as well. His name's Nash, we've worked with him before."

"_Ah_," Eames says and it speaks volumes. "_Is he reliable?_"

Arthur huffs at this. "As a person? No. At doing what we'll pay him for? Enough," he tells him honestly.

"_I see. And he's absolutely necessary because…?_"

"Not over the phone," the point man replies and he knows the other will immediately understand.

"_Alright then, I shall see you as soon as possible! Take care of yourself, Arthur Darling, and don't forget to pack your scarf and your gloves!_" he says with exaggerated enthusiasm.

Arthur hates that he's smiling. "See you later, Mr. Eames."

He hates it so much.

* * *

When he gets to Russia, his first thoughts go towards complaining about the cold – internally, because otherwise Dom is going to have a row teasing him about how he 'complains all the time like an old woman' – and as much as he's glad his friend's happy enough to tease him once more, there's only so much he's willing to put up with in the name of Friendship. He takes a cab to this job's hideout, a warehouse not too far from the center. When he gets in, his friend smiles warmly and tells him fresh coffee is brewing.

"What are you asking forgiveness for?" Arthur asks him suspiciously.

"Oh, Arthur…I can't even be nice to you without you looking for a conspiracy!" Dom replies fondly. "Just so you know though, I'm gonna drink that coffee too; you're just collateral."

The point man doesn't say anything to that and simply sits down in front of him. "So…double-layered dream huh?" He shrugs at Dom's raised eyebrow. "You're bringing in Nash – you don't use architects unless it's a two-level dream."

"You know me too well, Arthur," the older man replies seriously, the beginning of a smile pulling at his lips.

Arthur just smiles back at him and after they have that coffee, they get to work and start the planning phase – which is really the point man's forte.

Three days later, they both look up as Nash walks in, already in mid-rant about the long trip. The man obviously doesn't mind the cold, if his light jacket is anything to go by, and this makes Arthur curious because he doesn't know his ability, or if he really has one (although most in their trade do) – but then again, it's not like he broadcasts his own so he doesn't really spend too much time dwelling on it. The architect quickly crosses the room to shake Cobb's hand, and then turns to Arthur. "Arthur, how are you?" he asks as he extends a hand, and the point man's quite glad he didn't bother adding fake words about how it's great to see him again.

"Not overly fond of the cold," he replies as shakes his hand, because it's neutral. Really, what he wants to say is '_none of your business_', but Dom asked him to play nice – again, proof that _he_, unlike _some_ who shall not be named, is such a _good_ friend.

"Then again it would seem that there isn't actually anything you're overly fond of," a fourth voice comments.

Arthur turns to see Eames leaning back against the door, smiling smugly, and he can feel his own lips pulling up to reply in time to reign them in. "Mr. Eames," he greets with a nod.

The forger's smile widens, in a warm way, as though he just _knows_ that Arthur really wants to smile back. "You must be Nash. I'm Eames," he tells the man, his eyes narrowing the slightest bit as he scopes him for potential threats.

Nash only nods back at him, clearly trusting him just as much. Arthur wants to scoff at that, because it's obvious that Eames is a _million_ _times_ more trustworthy than Nash, and—wait a minute…where did _that_ thought come from?

"Ah, Eames," Cobb says as he walks to him to clap his shoulder as one would greet an old friend. "Wasn't expecting you so soon – good, very good, this means we can get started much sooner…"

"Well you know me," the shape shifter replies with a shrug. "Once I've set my mind on something, it's hard to think of anything else," and he looks Arthur in the eyes as he says these words.

Those treacherous gums want to smile without his consent again so Arthur clears his throat and grabs the folders he prepared for the other two as Cobb motions for them to group around a large table.

When Dom lays out the job, and explains what they'll need to do including the double-layered dream, everyone is completely serious and 100% in the game. Even Nash keeps his comments on the professional level as he takes notes of what he'll need to work on. It's all he could ever ask for, yet Arthur feels that something is off, missing. Eames is behaving but…

But after two days go by without any blatant flirting or pet names, Arthur is annoyed – annoyed that Eames is perhaps holding back on account of Nash, a stranger, being there, and of course mostly annoyed at himself for being annoyed in the first place – because it's good that the flirting ended, right?

Also, the shape-shifter isn't changing his appearance daily anymore – except for his eye color and Arthur is starting to notice a pattern: brown is serious, blue is happy, and then there's also the dirty grayish brown that clearly marks annoyance, but that one is exclusively reserved for Nash – to his great satisfaction. He hates that he notices.

Arthur's fixing himself a cup of coffee as he ponders these grand things, and in his inattention adds a second spoonful of sugar to his mug. Sighing helplessly as though this means great pains, he twirls it some more with the spoon before bringing it to his lips. It's okay. It'll do. There's movement on the side, and he turns his head to see Nash. "Nash," is all he says.

"Arthur," is all the other replies as he puts the kettle on. "So where's the mysterious Mr. Eames?" he then asks.

The point man wants to smack him at that, because again, Eames at least is trustworthy – and _again_, _damn it_, where do these thoughts come from? "I don't monitor his movements."

"Well I'm sure he wouldn't mind."

Arthur thinks he might kill him. "Excuse me?" Nash turns to him and there's something in his smile, _something_ that looks just like…just like… "You…_you_!"

Eames laughs as he shifts back into himself, leaning against the sink. "Oh, Darling…I've missed teasing you so dearly…" he tells him. His eyes are green – they were brown this morning when they'd been working – and he mentally thinks that green visibly means the mood is _playful_.

Arthur smiles back without fighting it despite himself because this at least feels familiar. "So where _is_ Nash?" he asks with a raised eyebrow.

Eames mirrors his expression, adding a shrug. "I neither know nor care," he replies in all honesty. "At the risk of sounding like you, I will say this: I don't like him. He's a shifty weasel."

"I wouldn't call someone a 'shifty weasel'," the younger man argues back with a chuckle.

"No, indeed, you couldn't pull it off," the other replies with an exaggerated shake of his head, as though he truly pities him for that. "Not enough imagination," he stage whispers.

"Go back to work, Mr. Eames," is all Arthur says as he feigns being offended.

Eames chuckles and then steps closer to speak in a low voice, and sometime during the conversation his eyes have turned blue (blue-ish gray or gray-ish blue though? He can never tell). "I don't trust him. But I trust Cobb, and I trust _you_," he tells him seriously.

Arthur nods at him, smiling the tiniest bit, and he suddenly gets it now. Eames doesn't trust Nash, so he won't let the man see the full extent of his ability. Neither will he tease the point man and annoy him in front of a man whom Arthur visibly dislikes (and who, let's be honest, dislikes him right back). It's an almost sweet gesture – unnecessary, but sweet – and he hates that he likes it. A lot more than he should.

* * *

Some people need a specific number of hours of sleep each night to be operational. Arthur needs seven, and it's more often than not from midnight to seven, like clockwork. Dom needs four (it appears his ability unconsciously manifests when he's asleep to make his slumber deeper and more refreshing) but he likes his six. Nash needs ten but always looks like he's had barely two. And Eames can make do with four or five but then he likes to take naps.

So it's not unusual for the forger to disappear for a couple of hours in the afternoon if they've spent the previous evening planning late into the night, or staking out for information. But when he wakes up from his nap in the early evening that day, he's surprised to find his own – his _real_ – reflection staring back at him. He doesn't bother shifting now because he's not in any immediate danger, but he can't help but feel slightly off-center, like something bad is about to happen – _or_, that it's going to rain (this has been known to happen, for some strange reason). Well, that or he had a fitful sleep, but he's normally able to maintain a shift even when unconscious. Deciding to worry about it later, he splashes water over his face and fixes himself a quick snack. But when half an hour later that feeling still hasn't left him, he decides to be cautious, and it's a young girl with colorful rain boots and matching scarf that passerby see leaving the building.

Neither Arthur nor Cobb answer his calls, and he does allow himself to start worrying at that –trustworthy, competent, decent associates are very hard to find in his line of work after all (and he won't deny the swell of affection for the point man that's been growing in him steadily ever since they first met). He makes it to their warehouse in a record time, only to freeze as he sees smoke coming out of the roof.

Eames will deny it because it's bad for business and his reputation, but he's worried. Truly worried. Not for Nash, honestly, as far as he's concerned his absence wouldn't change a thing – he'd even welcome it. But Cobb's definitely grown on him; he's a reliable partner and a good man deep down and that's always welcome in their profession – if hazardous at times. And Arthur…he decidedly wouldn't want to see anything happen to him – and perhaps he's not letting himself be completely honest as to why, but that's self-preservation at work.

He shifts to an appearance his associates will recognize and steps closer carefully. Everything smells wet though, and once he gets close to the door he's infinitely relieved to see that the emergency sprinklers did their job and while it's all soaked and still fuming in places, it's somewhat safe to enter the building – and he needs to act quickly, the firemen are probably on their way already.

He looks from side to side cautiously as he carefully steps around the debris, not wanting to make too much noise in case bad company is still around – because while it's not immediately obvious that this is a case of arson, accidents rarely just happen when you do the jobs they do. In a corner of his mind he notes that he can't see any bodies, and he can't smell burnt meat, so that's probably a good sign, however grim the thought. He comes to a complete stop as he closes his eyes and tries to pick up some noise, any noise. Hearing none, he decides it's safe to call out for his co-workers. "Arthur? Cobb? Are you still here?" he calls as loud as he dares in a precarious structure.

He swears Arthur's voice when he answers him is the most heartwarming thing he's ever heard. Grinning widely, he pushes his way past planks and shards of glass and collapsed ceiling to go towards Dom's office, pushing the broken door away to reveal an empty room. "Arthur?" he calls again with a frown.

His visibility seeps back in slowly to reveal the point man sitting in the corner, utterly drenched, completely disheveled, but still alert as he holds a gun up towards him.

"The wet shirt does wonders for your complexion while leaving little to the imagination, Darling – you didn't have to go through all the trouble just for me, you know," Eames comments off-handedly, truly much more relieved than he's willing to admit or show. "Incidentally, I love what you've done with the place," he adds as the other can't help but smile tiredly and lower his gun.

"We aim to please, Mr. Eames," Arthur replies tiredly as he lets his hand fall limply by his side.

The forger immediately worries as he kneels next to him, holding out a hand to examine him for wounds, letting out a breath in relief upon finding no blood or apparent injuries. "Arthur, are you alright? Did you take a hit to the head, breathe in too much smoke?"

"No…it wasn't so bad on this side, I don't think they really noticed I was there anyway, and then the sprinklers kicked in."

"Amateurs!" Eames jokes as he shakes his head fondly. "Can you move?"

Arthur shrugged. "I guess…but things look a bit blurry, my eyes sting," he informs him before frowning as he raises a hand to rub his eyes.

"It's probably the smoke. Don't rub them." Eames stops him and puts a hand under his chin so he can check his eyes for himself, frowning as he brushes his fingers over the other's forehead. "You're burning up, and that's with no pun intended, for once…" he murmurs as he helps him up carefully, urging him to rest his weight against him as he takes off his jacket and wraps it around Arthur's trembling shoulders, trying to rub some heat back into his arms. "We need to get you out of these clothes," he says with a shake of his head.

Arthur chuckles, resting his forehead on the other's shoulder. "You just can't help yourself, can you?" For once though, there isn't a shred of hostility in his tone.

The shape shifter grins and laughs warmly, moving a hand to the back of the other's neck, frowning as indeed he feels a strong temperature, which makes him wonder how long Arthur has been here, soaking wet, and whether he hasn't actually suffered a blow to the heard, seeing how he's slumped against him. "Again, for once this wasn't said with ulterior motives – although I naturally will not complain should you wish to take it that way," he assures him as he carefully helps him walk out of the building.

"Naturally," Arthur mumbles sleepily against his shoulder. "This is a nice voice," he then adds unexpectedly, seeming just as surprised at his words for only a second before his tiredness kicks in and he almost sags against him.

Eames halts and doesn't need to look down at himself to know that he's standing there in his real appearance once more and he only barely stops the curses from leaving his lips. "The things you make me do, Darling…" he mutters fondly as he they leave before the sirens' sound can get too close.

It never fails to amuse Eames how easily people dismiss you if you're a pretty thing tastefully (not to say seductively) clad. They even bypass the half-unconscious man you're supporting if you grin and say he's had a few too many drinks. They hail a cab (he knows it's not exactly safe, but he wasn't about to make Arthur walk and the public transports are definitely out of the question) and the driver drops them off a in front of a hotel a few minutes' walk away from the apartment he's renting for the month, and once the car has driven away to the next street, Eames turns towards the right direction and mutters to Arthur that they're almost there. When they get to his door he instructs the other to lean on the wall while he ensures that no unwanted visitors are in.

Arthur shakes his head and grabs his arm, and before Eames can protest he feels something wash over him, and he realizes that the man has made them both invisible. Nodding, he steps forward and opens the door carefully, his hand standing ready over the gun he was very glad he thought to take with him before leaving earlier. A quick sweep of the bedroom, kitchen and bathroom reassures them that they're secure for the moment, and Eames leaves Arthur with instructions to take a warm shower as he goes back to close and lock the door.

He looks for clothes that might fit the point man and leaves his find by the bathroom's door before he puts a kettle on the stove and pulls out two mugs, absently toying with his long hair (he hasn't bothered shifting back yet) as he wonders about the recent events, trying to replay the last days in his mind to see if there was any indication. He's so deeps in thoughts he nearly misses the sound of a phone ringing. He stops and stills as he looks down at his with a frown, knowing it's not coming from it. Walking to the couch, he finds Arthur's waistcoat slung over the armrest, and the ringing is coming from his pocket. Picking it up, he sees the caller ID indicates Nash. With a frown, he shifts his vocal chords to match Arthur's and answers the call. "Where are you?" he asks, knowing this would be the first on the point man's list of questions.

"_I went by the warehouse – it's burned down!"_ the edgy voice replies.

"So where are you?" he repeats with a frown.

"_Oh, uh, yeah, hiding…in case somebody comes after us…is Eames okay? Is he with you?"_ he then asks quite suddenly, and that's when Eames knows for sure that something's off – the weasel would never ask about his safety.

"He hightailed it out of here as soon as he smelled smoke, what did you expect? We're on our own," he replies, and he wants to take a moment to congratulate himself on how perfectly he's nailed Arthur's tone when talking about him.

"_Yeah, I'm not surprised—" _weasel arse _"—so should we meet up? There's strength in numbers, right? I mean, they got Cobb already, what if they come after us now?"_

"What do you mean 'they got Cobb'?" _You're awfully well informed, weasel_, he wants to add, gripping the phone just a bit more tightly.

"_Well, I—he hasn't contacted us yet so I assumed that means bad news…"_

Eames holds back a sigh as he rubs his eyes. Whoever 'they' are, if they really exist, they have Cobb, and Nash is visibly in on it – or promised safety if he draws Arthur out. Still, he'd like Arthur's opinion because it wouldn't be surprising for him and Cobb to have set up an emergency plan, so it's also possible the other man is simply hiding. "Wherever he is it won't be long before we find out one way or another. Lay low in the meantime and don't call back unless it's really important," he says with enough dismissiveness before hanging up. When he looks up, he sees Arthur leaning against the wall adjacent to the bathroom, and while the long-sleeved shirt is a loose fit, the sweatpants are a good size too big and under other circumstances Eames would have taken a moment to admire the unusual and unusually domestic view. "Things don't sound good," he tells him needlessly.

Arthur surprises him with a short laugh. "Would you mind not using my voice when you have a woman's appearance?" he asks with a raised eyebrow, more amused than annoyed.

Eames has to grin widely at that as he changes back into a man – _himself again_, without thinking, and it's too late to change again but Arthur doesn't make anything of it, since he can't know. "Better?" he asks as the tell-tale whistle informs them that it's tea time.

"It'll do," the point man agrees as he walks to lean back on the counter, nodding his thanks for the warm drink. "So, Nash…"

"In all fairness, he _could_ have been held at gunpoint and promised his life if he rats you out," Eames replies factually with a shrug. The other doesn't say anything as he studies him out of the corner of his eyes. "Do you have any reasons to believe he's right about Cobb?" he finally asks.

Arthur shakes his head noncommittally. "We've been separated before," he tells him. "We've agreed on a twelve hours radio silence in such cases."

"So we just wait and see?" the forger summarizes with a raised eyebrow. At the other's nod, he hums his agreement. "So what happened, really? Were you there on your own?"

The younger man's eyes darken as he remembers the fire. "Yes. I don't think I was the target; as I told you if anyone was there I suspect they weren't even aware of my presence. I was in Cobb's office when the fire broke. Then it all went so fast…the sprinklers turned on, and next thing I know, you're there," he tells him.

"Ah, your own Knight in Shining Armor!" Eames says grandly, because really, this he just can't pass up on.

Arthur doesn't say anything but the way he brings his mug to his mouth implies he may be hiding a smile. "As far as I know though, I can't say I saw any _proof_ that this was arson and not an accident," he adds with a frown. "I mean I keep trying to remember if I heard anything, or anyone, but…it's all a bit hazy right now…"

"Well we do know _now_," Eames reasons as he shakes his head. "The weasel didn't seem all that surprised about the fire, so I'd say the whole thing smells fishy – it's just too _convenient_, you know?"

"Yeah, you're probably right," Arthur mutters as he rubs his temples tiredly.

Eames is by his side in an instant, a hand on his forehead to check his temperature. "Normally I would want to commit to memory the moment where you admitted to my being right, but it's my policy not to torment the ill and the weak – and you are presently both," he informs him with a small smile although he's serious (and seriously worried). Arthur chuckles but doesn't fight him off. "You need rest. Just a few hours, and then if we've still got no news, we can formulate a plan to take over the World – and accessorily rescue Cobb."

"Accessorily, huh?" the point man repeats with a raised eyebrow.

"Bed, Arthur. Now," the forger replies as he points his hand in the bedroom's direction. "Being the gentleman that I am, I shall take the couch – unless you wish for company, that is," he can't help but throw out the invitation – and he's sure the other man would be disappointed if he didn't even try.

"Better not, I feel terminally ill and probably contagious," Arthur replies quite seriously as he makes a show of sneezing repeatedly until he's at the door. Once there, he pauses with his hand on the knob. "Hey Eames…"

"Yes, Love?"

'Love'. It's a new one, Arthur thinks, and the other's voice is warm when he says it, as warm as he feels upon hearing it – but he won't let himself dwell on it. "I don't…I don't think that you'd hightail it out of here at the first sign of danger and leave us to fend for ourselves," he starts with difficulty, referring to what he'd heard him tell Nash. "What I mean is…" he sighs as he trails off. This is much more difficult than it sounded in his head.

"You're welcome," Eames says knowingly, a warm smile on his face as he leans his side against the counter.

Arthur chuckles and turns to send him a look, half-annoyed, half-amused, and wholly exhausted. "You don't make anything easy, do you?"

Eames brings a hand to his chest in mock-shock. "Of course not, where's the fun in _that_?" He then quiets down and nods a few times, as though thinking back on something. "I get the sentiment, so you don't need to force the words out, that's all…" Because Arthur is nothing if not proud, and proud men hate to give thanks as it tends to prove that they needed help. "Bed, Arthur. Now," he repeats more gently.

Arthur gives him what just may be his warmest smile yet as for once he just does as he's told.

* * *

Eames looks up from his computer screen about four hours later to see the younger man emerge from the bedroom. "Still about six hours left, Arthur. You should get back to bed," he tells him for the principle, knowing Arthur will just do as he pleases in the end.

"Can't sleep anymore," the point man replies as he runs a hand though his hair (Eames likes this bed-hair look very much, it makes him look younger – or simply, it makes him look his age) and sits down next to him on the couch.

The forger wordlessly extends a hand to the touch the back of his fingers to the other's forehead to feel his temperature and sighs. "You're still a bit warm…do you have any allergies?" he asks as he stands up.

Arthur looks momentarily disoriented by the lack of hand on his forehead and blushes (for the record, it's the fever) as he looks up at him with a frown. "What?"

"Medical allergies," Eames specifies with a grin, thinking back on a similar conversation months back, when teasing and poking fun at each other was more _civil_ than _affectionate_ – and yet already second nature.

Arthur rolls his eyes playfully as he leans his head back on the headrest. "And here I thought you were fishing for information," he remarks with a small grin, visibly thinking back on the same things.

"Oh Darling, if you only knew…" Eames replies with a deep laugh as he goes to the bathroom to search through the medical cabinet for something useful. Finally he settles on a little tube that reads something he deduces means 'aspirin' – and spends the walk to the kitchen trying to work out how to pronounce it. When he sits back down on the couch, he sees Arthur narrowing his eyes at the screen and scrolling down to read the information. "Couldn't help yourself, eh?" he asks raising an eyebrow in amusement.

Arthur smiles fleetingly as his eyes keep taking in the information. "Been running a background check on Nash, I see…wise," he comments, accepting the drink and pill with a quick 'thanks'.

"I realize you probably did this several times before but…well, I needed something to do…" the shape shifter admits with a shrug. He then reaches over to close the screen and push the laptop away. "You need rest, Arthur, and if you won't sleep, then at the very least you shouldn't sit there staring at a computer screen," he tells him gently but sternly as he pulls out the cover he'd been sitting on to drop it in the other's lap.

The other man nods his thanks as he spreads out the cover over himself. He sighs as he leans back against the cushions, rubbing his eyes, visibly too tired to argue. "Can you at least turn on the TV? That might help…" he asks after a short moment spent in silence.

"Fair enough," Eames replies as he grabs the controller and flips through the channels until he grins widely and settles on '_Die Hard_'. "There," he says with a grin. "There's nothing quite like a good old-fashioned action movie dubbed in a foreign language"

Arthur grins tiredly at that but has to admit this will be perfect to get him to sleep. Yet despite himself he can't help but follow the movie – or _try_ to, the language barrier not helping, but it actually turns it into some kind of comedy in the end. "So do you actually know Russian?" he asks Eames after the man laughs at a joke (an actual joke, Bruce Willis is smirking, so it was meant to be funny and not just the language making it so).

"Nah, I just know the script," the forger replies. "I mean I do know the basics – hello, goodbye, please, thank you, what time is it, where's the airport-and-or-bar, I love you and so on and so forth." He grins as he sees the other rolling his eyes at this. "And then of course some insults."

"Of course," Arthur humors him. They watch the movie in silence for some time, until he can feel his eyelids drooping. "Bruce Willis will kick their asses, won't he?" he asks sleepily – wanting to be sure of the end just in case he does fall asleep because who knows? This could be the one action movie where the hero tragically (and heroically) dies at the end, and he'd feel bad about missing it.

Eames chuckles at this as he turns to look at him with a raised eyebrow. "Well of course Darling, he's the man! Haven't you seen this movie before?" at the other's shrug, he frowns. "Not even the second one? With the planes?"

"Wasn't even aware there was a second one…I thought it was all one and the same," the point man admits as he breathes out deeply, closing his eyes. "Bruce Willis just saving the day over and over before breakfast." _And looking good doing it_, he thinks, but he's not so sleepy, drugged and/or sick that he'll say _that_ out loud.

The shape shifter stares at him with something akin to pity mixed with genuine amusement. "My, my…your cinematographic education is simply lacking, young man. We should fix this, someday," he comments only half-jokingly.

"Mh-mh. We should," Arthur agrees drowsily (distractedly), head lolling to the side until it meets something soft and solid: Eames' shoulder – and he will firmly deny later on that this was a conscious gesture as clearly, it's all due to the fever and the medication.

But Eames finds himself smiling softly at this as he grabs the controller, careful of his movements, to lower the volume.

"Got to keep my phone around…" Arthur mumbles. "In case Dom calls…"

"I'll take care of this, Love. You rest now, you need it," the forger tells him quietly, having already located the cell-phone by the coffee table in front of him – within arm's reach, luckily.

"So do you," the point man replies as he moves his arm a bit to extend the cover to the other man, his hand then falling in his lap.

Eames hears the sound of deep breathing then and knows that the other is asleep. Unable to stop smiling, he carefully makes himself more comfortable. Arthur's hand is still on his leg, and tentatively, he brushes his own fingers over it, keeping his eyes over his face in case he wakes up and decides to murder him for being too close – never mind that he's clearly the victim in this, the point man practically threw himself at him! But the younger man stays asleep, even as Eames rests his hand over his and squeezes gently.

He suddenly sees gunfire and exploding glass quite differently. No movie has ever been this good.

* * *

When Arthur opens his eyes, his first thought is that he's warm, but it's not the fever. His second thought is that sleeping on a couch is never good but even though his back's already killing him, strangely enough it doesn't truly hurt – weird, yes, it doesn't make sense to him either but that's how it feels like – because he's actually so _comfortable_. His hand feels even warmer, and while he can't see it since it's under the covers, he knows it's in Eames', and although the thought jolts him, he doesn't feel like pulling back. Just like he doesn't feel like moving at all, really – and he's the first to be surprised at that. The two of them had gotten off to a bumpy start, and then grown to a grudging professional respect before somehow trust wormed its way into it and eventually…eventually evolved into…what? Comradeship? Friendship? Something like that…

But that doesn't explain why it feels so good to be close to him like this!…Or why it feels so safe, so peaceful – really, safe and peaceful are two words men in their trade have pretty much given up on associating with any part of their lives, yet here they are…feeling safe and peaceful in an old apartment in Moscow of all places…

"How are you feeling?" Eames asks him quietly as he breaks the silence, turning his head to him – inwardly, the forger realizes that usually the only time he'd be _himself_ with someone for so long would be when with his family, or generally speaking people who knew him from _before_, and he likes this, no matter how much it also scares him.

Arthur tilts his head back a little to meet his gaze and nods. "Better. The aspirin did its work," he replies.

"Well, when you think about how cold it gets here, it's only natural that their medicine should be adapted to treating this quickly and efficiently," the other man notes with a grin. Without thought and almost without realizing it, his other hand moves to the back of the point man's neck to check his temperature for himself, nodding in satisfaction as indeed it seems to have gone down. He looks into Arthur's eyes then, and notices for the first time that their hands are still clasped together under the cover – and try as he might he can't help but feel extremely pleased that the other didn't pull back.

Eames smiles softly at this and the younger man forgets their situation for a moment. The hand that's on his neck slowly moves to his jaw, then to his temple before pushing a stray strand of hair back behind his ear, and quite despite himself, Arthur's eyes trail over the other's lips at that. And for just a moment, because he's feeling _safe_ and _peaceful_, he lets himself wonder how those lips would feel against his. Eames looks as usual in complete control of his emotions, yet Arthur thinks that perhaps he'd like to find that out for himself as well (if all his flirting's to be taken any seriously), but he's not moving either.

The forger shifts and the point man thinks he may just close that small distance, but the other man only sighs and pulls back before either of them ends up crossing the line of no-return and regret it – their hands have never felt so cold though. Standing up and stretching his arms, he checks his watch and frowns. "We've got about two hours left until the deadline," he informs him.

Arthur nods, managing to convince himself thanks to years of practice that he's not disappointed – but in whom, that's a different story altogether. Grabbing his phone, he frowns as he sees the flashing display informing him he has a new message. Even though his mind is still a bit groggy, and through the surge of relief as he sees it's from Dom, he manages to decipher their emergency code quickly. "Cobb wrote," he tells the other.

"Same here," Eames nods as he shows him his phone with a raised eyebrow, screen displaying the exact same message of seemingly random letters and numbers. "Is this supposed to mean anything to me?"

"No. But to me, yes," Arthur replies. "He's okay. We're meeting him back in Paris. He added new plane tickets to the fake passports we left in that locker at the airport," he informs him, fully reassured as he now knows his friend is safe and sound – and just a bit intrigued and annoyed as to what happened and why the Hell he didn't contact them sooner.

"Ah, France," Eames comments with a grin, shaking his head. "Incidentally, Cobb better have a good explanation ready on what happened and how he ended up in France while we were left here to freeze! Well, that and letting us know he's okay a bit sooner might've been nice, too."

Great minds do indeed think alike.

* * *

When they get to the airport, they walk a straight line to the depository lockers and find the passports they left, and the plane tickets that Dom added. Using a mix of discretion and Arthur's ability, they're ready to head to the check-in counters when a beeping sound interrupts them.

Eames pulls out his pager and frowns. "I need to take this," he tells the other.

Arthur frowns back at that. "Can't it wait until we've crossed security?"

Eames (or rather, the young girl's face he has now) smiles distractedly and shrugs towards the counters. "Go on ahead, I'll catch up."

"I can wait," the point man replies, because it's true that it's safest not to split up now.

"I'll catch up," Eames insists, and there's no room for discussion in his voice, a grown man's authority showing through a young girl's appearance.

Arthur's frown doesn't let up, but he nods and makes his way to the check-in desks, trying not to dwell on the fact that what really bothers him is that Eames visibly doesn't want him (doesn't trust him?) to overhear any bits of this conversation. He's barely checked in when the other returns – in his usual appearance.

"I'm sorry, Arthur, but I won't be joining you in Paris, not yet," he tells him apologetically.

This disturbs Arthur deeply, but he won't let himself think about why. "Okay," he replies instead.

Eames sighs and shakes his head, as though searching for words. "It's…I'm sorry to be bailing out on you like this but it's…a personal matter—"

"You don't owe me any explanations, Mr. Eames," Arthur interrupts him because he suddenly really dislikes how much he'd let himself trust and rely on the other. He quickly makes to walk away before he can say any more and render himself even more vulnerable.

"Don't take it personally, Arthur," Eames requests softly, gaze serious as he grabs his arm. "I'll be in Paris before you can forget what paisley looks like!" he promises.

Arthur wants to smile at that, and maybe he does, but it doesn't reach his eyes. It also costs him a lot not to turn back once as he steps away to the security check. He's not entirely sure what he would have done if he'd taken a last look at the other, but bugging him until he got the truth wouldn't have been completely out of the question – and neither would've been the thought of following him with or without his consent. He firmly tells himself it's just curiosity, and not a desire to stay with Eames, and he does such a good job of it that by the time the plane lands in Paris he believes it.

When he gets to the city-center and finds Dom, the extractor greets him with a short one-armed hug. When asked about Eames, Arthur replies that he's alright, but had personal business to take care of. Dom can see he doesn't want to talk about it, so he doesn't press the issue. Instead, he asks him to relate the events in Russia, staying silent as he hears the story.

"So that's it," the point man finishes as he tells him all that happened in the last hours – well, perhaps leaving out one detail or two, such as falling asleep on a couch with the forger, and waking up feelings _safe_ and _peaceful_. "So now it's your turn. What the Hell, Dom?" he asks, part worried and part angry.

The older man sighs apologetically. "Cobol Engineering," is all he says. He doesn't need to develop. Their last job with Nash had been corporate espionage against Cobol Engineering. They'd probably gotten their hands on Nash and offered to let him off the hook if he got them Cobb.

"So when did you get out? And how did you even know you had to?" Arthur asks him with a frown.

Dom looks away, a hand stroking his goatee. "I received a warning from an old contact," he replies evasively. "Then I got new plane tickets – yours included – and didn't linger longer than I had to. I'm sorry I couldn't warn you before."

There's more to it than that, Arthur isn't duped; but neither does he feel like having a row with his best friend – his _only_ friend, as it stands, really. "So why Paris?"

"We need a new base. Paris it is," Dom replies, as though this explains everything.

It doesn't. But Arthur is too tired to argue. "Paris it is," he repeats.

Dom has apparently been planning this for some time, because there are a couple of apartments in the buildings nearby that he's renting. As his head hits the pillows, Arthur wonders where Eames is now (or, if he's to be honest with himself, _who_ _he's_ _with_) and thinks that strangely, that old couch in the equally old apartment in Moscow was much more comfortable.

He tries not to dwell on these thoughts.

* * *

To be continued...


	3. Change of perspective

And on to three!

* * *

Cobb is still reluctant to talk about the events in Russia, and when he's rested and no longer cranky from the trip and near-death experience of the fire, Arthur finds that it's much easier to cut the other some slack. Dom will talk when ready. Friends wait. Arthur will wait.

Over the next week, they settle around, getting their bearing and habits, and Dom is edgy. It takes Arthur a day to get it out of him that he's going to meet his father-in-law – Miles, Mal's father – a college professor in the city. "But didn't you go to see him already when you arrived?" he asks him with a frown.

Dom nods, but then shakes his head. "This is different," is all he says.

When he leaves, Arthur is left on his own, and as he idly shuffles through the few magazines the both of them brought over from their plane trips, his head suddenly snaps up when he hears the door. Standing still, he turns invisible, careful not to make any noise. The door closes and steps sound out, first distant then coming closer. Finally, the uninvited guest turns the corner, and there stands Eames, wearing a paisley-collared shirt – as promised. Yet pettily, childishly (two things he'd normally decided against), Arthur doesn't dispel his ability, doesn't make his presence known. If he weren't a grown man you could have called it pouting. (But grown men don't pout. They just don't.)

The forger takes a few careful steps in, looking around. "Hello? Arthur? Cobb?" he calls out. Receiving no answer, he checks his watch, humming. "Well as luck would have it I probably caught them on their break…" he mutters as he drops his travel bag on a nearby chair and sits down in another, dangerously close to the other, picking up the same magazines he'd been reading.

Arthur looks at him, still not willing to reveal his presence for reasons he won't let himself be completely honest about.

"I'm sorry," Eames says suddenly, and Arthur freezes but doesn't do anything. "Of course it's unlikely you're even here, and I'm just being silly talking to myself, but on the off chance that you are…I am sorry, Love," he repeats. He then chuckles and shakes his head, leaning his elbows back on the table. "And now I'm talking to myself…way to go, Eames…"

The invisible man absolutely hates what that pet name does to him. He wants to ask him plenty of questions, but he won't – he'd probably get only lies or half-truths anyway. But neither will he acknowledge the apology. So he sets to wait silently until Dom returns from his mystery meeting; yet even when the man walks back into the main room, he still doesn't reveal himself.

"Eames, good to see you," Dom says with a smile as they shake hands.

"Likewise," Eames answers, and he means it. "We were worried about you!"

"I'm sorry," the extractor replies with a tight smile. "Is Arthur around? There's someone I want you both to meet."

"I'm here," Arthur replies as he lifts the veil, revealing himself perched on a chair not far.

Eames looks surprised and vaguely hurt, but he quickly covers it with a smirk. "Now Darling, you know you don't need to be invisible to stare at me all you like!" he tells him. Somehow, this time it doesn't sound quite natural.

Arthur does an amazing job of convincing himself he doesn't care.

Dom as usual notices, but in his wisdom doesn't comment on it, knowing neither man would take it well. Plus he's confident that they'll eventually fix it on their own, given time. So he holds out a hand and a young girl steps out from the door sill. "Ariadne, these are Arthur and Eames. Gentlemen, meet Ariadne, our new architect," he introduces without further ado.

"A pleasure to make your acquaintance," Eames assures her as he shakes her hand, although he looks as though he's still reserving his judgment – but you'd need to know him to notice, and Arthur hates that he notices.

The point man isn't as subtle. "We're going to need an architect?" Because that worked out _so well_ for them in the (recent) past – but he's going to _behave_, so he holds back on the sarcasm. Ariadne still flinches at his tone and he feels bad for a second.

Cobb sends him a part-warning part-fond look and nods. "Yes. I've got a few projects lined up, and I was hoping I could count on your support. From the both of you," he tells them.

Eames crosses his arms over his chest. "Well it's never a dull moment around you, so I'm in." He then gazes sideways to the point man. "At least until I'm not wanted anymore."

Arthur shoves his hands in his pockets and fists them there, trying not to react to the other's words that he just _knows_ were directed to him. "I trust your judgment," he replies. And he leaves it at that because that's really all there is to it in the end, and nothing more needs to be said.

* * *

It's been said and repeated that Arthur doesn't like anyone, and he's certainly made it clear that he isn't too happy with the thought of bringing in a new architect so soon. Yet in all honesty, Ariadne is no Nash; so he shortly stops giving her the silent treatment. It's just a bit infuriating that Eames is being so _nice_ to her, and that after two days, he's back to shifting his appearance all around – something he _never _did with Nash.

The first few days, they teach her about shared dreaming, although she'll only design the levels and never go under with them – they all silently agree that at 21 she's far too young to be utterly 'corrupted' (Dom won't let her). After she's more familiar with the basics, Dom spends more time with her, discussing what will be needed and expected from her, while Arthur and Eames go over what they know so far about their target, and start brainstorming on possible scenarios for the extraction.

"Mmh…it's written in her psych report that she has a fear of horses, ever since she broke her hip after a nasty fall back in college," Eames notes as he shuffles through the illegally obtained documents. "We could appeal to this, feature stables in the background, issue a challenge to get back on the saddle, as it stands—"

"And recommend an ill-advised merging to her boss?" Arthur finishes dubiously.

"No analogy's better than another, except when it touches a private memory," the forger replies, raising his eyebrow. "Appealing to this part of her may spark a positive reaction that we can redirect – make her bold enough to take a leap of faith in her work," he remarks. "I didn't say it was _the_ plan, but it's a possibility…"

"Yep, 'cause undeniable _you're_ the man who knows all about _possibilities_," the point man mutters as he tilts back his chair.

Eames huffs as he shakes his head, sporting a tight-lipped grin. "Your condescension, as always, is much appreciated Arthur, thank you," he replies sarcastically.

Arthur rolls his eyes but doesn't say anything, merely ignores him.

"I know walking out when I did wasn't really my best moment," he begins and Arthur stands up at this. "But I apologized! What more can I do?"

"I never asked you to apologize," the point man mutters as he pours himself a cup of coffee, turning his back to him.

"Then what do you want?" Eames asks him seriously as he walks around the desk to face him.

_I want to know why_, Arthur thinks, but he can't ask him. He doesn't have the right to, and it drives him crazy that he even cares – but he _does_, and he can't do a thing about it. "Nothing," he replies. "I don't expect you to do anything," he adds with a shake of the head. Truthfully he wants to know what – _who_ – was so important that he up and left him in the middle of a messed up job. He wants to know where – _who_ – he went to, and what he did, and why he won't _tell him about it_. But he won't ask.

Eames frowns and looks like he might say something, but he doesn't.

Because after all they're both playing the same game. Don't talk about yourself, don't ask your co-workers about themselves, and everything will go along as it should: in a simple manner. And in their line of work, simple is _good_.

It's a stupid game, and they've both come to loathe it. But neither feels ready to take the leap of faith needed to stop playing it.

* * *

To Arthur, Ariadne, when he lets himself get to know and trust her, is like a burst of much needed fresh air around the three of them. And Eames adores her. Dom spends less time dreaming and more time smiling and just living, and Eames adores her. Arthur himself is glad for another sensible soul around, someone who won't tease or pry or retreat within herself and lose sight of what's real, what really matters, and Eames adores her. All three men are happy to be around someone who discovers everything with a never-ending thirst for knowledge, an infinite supply of youthful eagerness and earnest enthusiasm, _and Eames adores her_.

Arthur refuses to acknowledge that he's jealous. More than that, he hates the mere thought.

To Eames, Ariadne, bless her heart and youthful innocence, soon becomes the heart and soul of their group. And Arthur is taken with her. Cobb takes to her with affection and something close to a yearning for the normalcy which they've been lacking for years, and Arthur is taken with her. Eames himself adores her, from her wide curious eyes to the excitement that always comes with her requests for him to impersonate someone, _anyone_, and Arthur is taken with her. All three men are silently grateful for her presence, for this natural way she has of grounding them into reality, into believing for a moment that they're not internationally wanted criminals, _and Arthur is taken with her_.

Eames doesn't take long to recognize that he's jealous. He normally wouldn't mind so much except for the fact that he truly loves his Funny Girl, as he's taken to calling her.

It's just too bad that neither of them realizes the feeling is mutual.

Ariadne doesn't either, but to her defense there is just too much going on around her at the moment, too much excitement, too much novelty, too much _too much_, and she revels in it. Barely a few weeks ago she wasn't even sure that there were other people like her, people who could do things others could only dream of (and that word is so appropriate in an entirely new way now). She was going on with her life laying low, studying architecture and not drawing too much attention to herself. And now, she's in an old warehouse designing levels of architecture for them and sharing dreams and essentially breaking laws but not caring because finally, _finally_, she feels like she _belongs_ somewhere – after only a couple of weeks!

Yet it's Ariadne who unwillingly sours things and makes them take a turn for the worse, exactly three weeks after she's joined them – and three days since their first job together, a simple extraction performed on a cook for his famous secret recipe, has gone smoothly.

As he had promised her upon a frank success and because she claimed it would be her birthday soon (still four months away and they all know it but they act like they don't), Eames shifts and poses with her for pictures with (amidst many others) her favorite Spice Girl (Geri), Backstreet Boy (Brian) and actor (Gary Oldman, and he has to tease her for liking older men at that) while Arthur, not possessing the ability to say 'no' to her when she asked so earnestly, is roped into taking said pictures on her pink camera. (They even go for one with The Queen of England, and are forced to admit that Eames is freakishly good, unsurprisingly – Her Majesty promises lessons in how to make proper tea when she next has time before Ariadne requests another idol.)

"And it's a wrap, you can pull your hands out of his pockets, Ariadne," the point man cannot help but tease once her wishes are met.

"Jealous, are we, Arthur Darling?" Elvis – in a leather vest, Ariadne insisted she likes it better than the full sparkly unitard regalia – asks him with a raised eyebrow while the young woman simply laughs in glee.

Arthur doesn't immediately know what to reply to that; aside from getting past the weirdness of looking at him standing a few feet away, there are just some things you never expected The King to ask you. "You wish," he says with an amused glance towards the girl, holding out the camera for her to take it back.

"Don't be cruel to a heart that's true!" the legend proclaims in a strange mix of crooning voice and British accent.

Ariadne moves to get her camera back but then her face lights up as she thinks of another idea. "Ooh! I almost forgot! Can I have one with you?" she asks enthusiastically.

Elvis freezes in his swagger and Eames shifts back, smile easy as he pretends not to know what she meant. "Funny Girl, you wound me! I was there all along!" he says as he puts a hand over his heart and pretends to be hurt.

"Yeah, I know but—what I mean is, what do you really look like?" she asks him, not seeing how both men are looking at her with something close to fear because she essentially just pointed to The Elephant in the room and said: 'Oh hello there, well aren't you a cute little elephant? My name is Ariadne, what's yours? Do you want to come out and play?' (Or something. Neither are experts at engaging The Elephant, they're both perfectly happy ignoring it.)

Eames holds out his arms and raises an eyebrow, his gaze regularly shifting to the point man for less than a second at the time. "Not good-looking enough for you?" he asks teasingly.

She blushes at that and shrugs, stuffing her hands in her pockets. "No, no, I'm just…curious! Every other day there's something different – your eyes, your hair, sometimes your height, or your voice…I was just wondering where the real Eames is in all of that…" she trails off and they even forget to be impressed that she turns out to be more observant than they give her credit for. The silence is so overbearing she can hear the rain hit the windows and the computers ventilate, and that's when she realizes the shift in the air, the tension that her questions gave birth to. She turns towards Arthur to see his jaw squared, his eyes fixing her camera.

Eames is still smiling, but his eyes never leave Arthur now. He can see the walls through the edge of the point man's shoulders, knowing this to mean that Arthur really wants to be away and it's only politeness that's keeping him from vanishing from their sight entirely.

Ariadne doesn't know what to say anymore – The Elephant kind of trampled everything. Cobb walks back in at this moment and she all but bites her lips in relief as she goes to him.

Eames' eyes never leave Arthur and Arthur's eyes remain downcast on the camera, absent-mindedly trailing through all the pictures he took of Eames, but without _Eames_ – Ariadne with John Kennedy, Ariadne with The Queen, Ariadne with Madonna, Ariadne with the Dalai Lama – always Ariadne with Eames, but _never with Eames_. And it's funny how he never realized just how much this bothers him until it's been dragged out in the open like that.

But neither of them is willing to address The Elephant, so they just leave it at that – and the funny thing is before Ariadne uncovered it they weren't even really aware of its presence.

* * *

The next day it's as though nothing happened. Eames is all 'Funny Girl's and 'Arthur Darling's and Arthur is back to focusing on his job and reminding others to do the same. (And The Elephant is back in its corner, and has it grown _bigger_? Well, _what do you know_? It _has_!)

But Eames' eyes are hazel, and he's perhaps a couple of inches taller than he was yesterday, and this time Arthur refuses to acknowledge that he noticed. He tells himself he never will again, won't give the shape shifter the satisfaction.

Cobb notices, of course, but doesn't say anything, and Ariadne is the eye of the storm. She caused the shift in the first place, but the closer she gets the quieter, the more _normal_ the two become. In his great wisdom Cobb encourages her to spend as much time as she wants with them.

The following days are the same, with small differences (blonde Eames, blue eyes, dark eyes, and even Lincoln Eames one day, to steal a smile out of Ariadne because her friends and family are starting to notice something different and are bugging her about it) yet still The Elephant remains unattended to – but in all objectivity, after a week it's seemingly shrunken back to its original size, so much that they're able to go back to ignoring it's even there in the first place.

Until the time has come for them to do their heist, leaving Ariadne back in Paris (not willing to expose her to any kind of danger) and heading off eastwards to Berlin. The truce is back in place, but without Ariadne it's tentative and it's fragile, and it's only when it's time to work that they put it all aside because they're well aware that preparation is the difference between life and near-death and _death_.

So they push The Elephant aside and work together. Eames practices his German accent seriously in front of a mirror, appearance that of a young woman that should break all walls in their target's mind. Arthur doesn't care much for the language, but the forger manages to sneak _something_ into his every word, and sometimes he finds himself wanting to learn it, and to his horror catches himself repeating some words. Sometimes Eames notices and then his words come out with a strong British accent that Arthur _knows_ is wrong even though he can't understand what he's saying.

"Be serious, Eames," he admonishes him with a small smile as he re-checks their timers for the umpteenth time. He may not speak German, but he just _knows_ the other is talking about food now.

"But _Schätzchen_, I _am_ seriously hungry," Eames replies with a pout – and a German accent – as he – _she_ – turns back to look at him, arms crossed over his – _her_ – chest. But this lovely lady, while charming and quite simple in her looks – no miles-high heels, no pellets of make-up, no mini-skirts or deep cleavage, just a pretty thing – was gifted by nature with quite large…assets. When her arms are crossed, they rest on top of her breasts and Arthur positively hates himself for laughing, because there's no reason to, not _really_ – except perhaps that there's just _something_ about a grown man with the appearance of a big-breasted young woman, and he's only human.

Eames notices and leans back in the chair. "I'll have you know, you ungallant, ignorant person who possesses not one ounce of self-restraint, that large breasts are not to be laughed at. My back is killing me!" he assures him, her face crunching up in distaste.

"I am _so_ sorry," Arthur replies in between chuckles as he holds a hand up, the other covering his mouth. And he _is_ sorry, he feels bad for laughing at this woman who's done nothing to warrant this, who's probably had to deal with people like him all her life, and he is definitely sending her some flowers to apologize when this is over. His laughter won't stop though, it's contagious and soon Eames laughs too, her soft voice joining the fun.

"Stop that, you're killing me!" she says between fits of giggles.

"I thought your back was already doing that," Arthur replies without thinking, and they're both so surprised at that that the laughter doubles, and Arthur gasps for air for no reason other than it's _ridiculous_ to be laughing so much about _so little_, and really it just shows how much pent up pressure they've been building.

Eames shifts back into his usual appearance, wiping tears as he shakes his head. "We should do this more often, Darling! If I'd known big breasts are all it takes to make you lose your composure, I would have done it ages ago!" But then he frowns as he looks at the other. Because as soon as he shifted back, the laughter died and Arthur stopped, and is looking at him as though…well, he doesn't know as though what, but it doesn't look good. "Arthur?" he calls worriedly. "What's wrong?"

Arthur looks away with a frown, sitting up straighter in his chair as he turns back to his computer screen. "Nothing…we should get back to work," he mutters as the sound of quick typing fills the air. Before Eames can say anything, he stands up and goes to knock on Dom's door, asking him to join them for a brief overview of the job. All through it, he can't quite look Eames in the eyes, except when he takes the woman's appearance once again, strangely, and he even manages a smile and a joke then. But as soon as his usual appearance is back, he can't stand it.

In the end, there are only a few things he's fairly certain of when it comes to Eames – he's British, he loves his sugar with tea, he's smart, he's studied psychology at some point, using his ability is second nature to him and he doesn't even need to concentrate particularly hard to maintain a shift – but physically, he only has one certainty: he's a man. Which is why he's never bothered when the shape shifter takes on a child or a woman's appearance, but with men…with his 'usual' look, the one that has only slight changes every day, he doesn't know where he stands. It's probably the appearance that's closest to the real thing, but in the end he has no idea. And he hates every reminder of that simple fact.

Dom later wants them to do a test run on the dreamscapes, and they comply. Between that and more planning, it's early evening when they decide to call it a day. Arthur desperately wants to turn invisible and leave quickly, but that would decidedly look like running away, and he is not going there. But Eames is determined, and finds any number of reasons to hold back until Cobb is gone.

"So…what's wrong? _Really_, I mean," the shape shifter asks without preamble as he stands next to him with his arms crossed over his chest.

Arthur thinks they might address The Elephant and it almost scares him. "Eames, there's nothing out of the ordinary going on. You're doing your job, I'm doing mine, everything's going well – things are normal. All of it, it's just normal," he repeats as he gathers his things and puts them away in his messenger bag, getting ready to leave.

"Oh, sure," Eames deadpans with a shrug. "Why won't you even look me in the eyes then?" He sighs as he's met with silence, Arthur shrugging back as he keeps pretending that nothing's off.

The point man frowns, because so many things are off in reality. Eames' eyes are brown, and he doesn't know if that's accurate or if it's a radical change; his hair is a sandy color, and he doesn't know if it's darker or lighter than normal; he's roughly the same height, perhaps a hair taller, and he doesn't know if he's adjusting himself or not; his voice is warm – he's taken to using that one more often than not recently – and he doesn't know if it's even remotely in the right tones; he doesn't know, he doesn't know, _he doesn't know_. And Arthur hates not knowing. But he hates running away even more, so he raises his head and meets the other's gaze. "Nothing's out of the _ordinary_," he repeats pointedly, and he wishes it wasn't so.

Because it's _ordinary_ for Eames to hide his real appearance.

"Arthur…" Eames chides in a quiet, fond exasperated voice as he steps closer. "Why so stubborn?"

The point man snorts at that. "Shouldn't I be the one asking you that?" he asks back, the ghost of a smile settling on his lips. He takes a step closer, too, though he can't for the life of him figure out why.

"Ah, but when it comes to me, I'd say it's closer to perseverance rather than stubbornness – which is clearly not your case, Love," the forger replies, his lips now settling in a gentle smile, and he's still inching closer, slowly and carefully.

"Semantics," Arthur dismisses, and really, he can't say any more, because the other is now so close he can feel heat radiating off of him, and when his hand fidgets on the edge of his desk it's soon encased by a slightly colder, larger one, and strangely enough, pulling away never comes to mind.

"Whatever makes you happy," Eames replies, seriously, and Arthur only needs to let himself see it to know he means these words. The forger leans forward slowly, his eyes not leaving his. "You only need to stop me now if I've misunderstood you completely," he whispers as he raises his free hand to run the back of his fingers along the other's jaw line.

Arthur doesn't move, just closes his eyes and tilts his head to the side when he feels the other's breath on his lips. It's not a fully conscious movement, but he's the one to close that final distance, melting against the other as his hand squeezes the other's _hard_, as if looking for an anchor. The fingers that were on his jaw move to his neck, and settle at the back of his head, gently treading through his hair, and he raises his free hand to Eames' side, grabbing his jacket and holding on for dear life. And it's—it's _perfect_—everything he thought it could be those rare times he let himself consider the idea – and _more_. Eames is as good at kissing as he is at everything else. His mouth—_God_, his _mouth_—, his hands, his whole body, they fit against his like he was tailored this way: just for him.

But this thought is clearly what snaps him out of his daze. He doesn't know if any of it is real, and he so badly wants it to be, but wanting it isn't enough. Arthur is a pragmatic man; he needs to _know_, not just assume.

"No," Arthur mumbles as he pulls back and steps away from the other man, and it's probably about the hardest thing he's ever done, because those lips – _those lips_ he's been daydreaming about ever since that moment months back in Russia when he'd first thought about kissing Eames – he now knows without the shadow of a doubt that they were meant to be glued to his.

Eames nearly physically deflates as he grabs his wrist to keep him from going away completely. "No? _No_? But…Arthur, I thought—"

"We _can't_, Eames," the point man interrupts him, not shaking off his hold because, _really_, he doesn't want to go. "Not when…"

"_Not_ _when I don't even know if this is really you_," is what he wants to say.

"Not when we're working together like this," is what he ends up saying after a second's pause.

The forger isn't duped. It's his job to study people: a second's hesitation never goes unnoticed. "If that's all there is to it, let me grab a phone and I'll ring Cobb right now to tell him to look for someone else," he tells him quite confidently. He then tugs on his wrist and pulls him closer, their bodies as close as they can be without actually touching. "But that's not really it, is it, Love?" he asks him quietly as his thumb gently caresses the back of his hand. He's utterly serious, too; there isn't a trace of his usual teasing tones.

Arthur is unable to look away from his eyes – those blue but gray but _so blue_ eyes that had been brown before they'd kissed – and he decides that with all the times they risked their lives together and had each other's back, he at least owes him the truth. "How can I ever know that it's really _you_?" he asks him with a frown. This time when he steps away, Eames lets him, and doesn't move an inch, doesn't say a word. Arthur hates to think it means that he's right. "Goodnight, Eames," he throws over his shoulder as he grabs his jacket and makes for the door.

Eames' voice stops him right as his hand reaches for the handle. And it's a simple word that throws his entire world and all his resolve off-balance.

"Leonard."

The point man freezes and risks turning his head to look at him.

"My first name's Leonard," Eames repeats, the ghost of his usual grin back on his face, posture showing one simple thing: _determination_. "I'm not giving up on you, Arthur. I can't prove to you that this is really _me_, but I _can_ do my best until you trust me when I say it is. And in the end I'll sweep you right off your feet whether you want it or not."

He says it as a warning, as a challenge, _as a promise_, and Arthur turns back and leaves before the other can see just how much he hopes it could be true, how much he's _looking forward to it_. (And admittedly, Eames will probably have his work cut out for him, but he's still going to enjoy it.)

To be continued...

Let me know what you think :)


	4. No one compares to the King

Aaaaand four ! Work has been syphoning my energy something crazy these past few weeks…only 7 ½ weeks 'till my vacation time! Aahhhh…  
I think this chapter has been long coming, so I hope I won't disappoint! At any rate, please enjoy!

* * *

They haven't mentioned their conversation since it happened. They haven't talked of anything non mission-related. They're on a job, so their lives get pushed to second place, as is usual. They're used to that, they're _comfortable_ with that.

And yet when they're done and back in Paris…

Arthur tries not to look like he's paying close attention, but Eames isn't really being subtle in his attempts to convince him of his sincerity. Especially considering the first thing he does the next day is walk to Ariadne brightly and say:

"Do you still want a picture with your favorite shape-shifter, Funny Girl?"

Ariadne looks up from her notebook with a surprised expression as her eyes run over his face. "Seriously?" she asks with a grin.

"Seriously," he assures her.

"No, I mean _seriously _seriously?" she insists. "This is really you?"

"This is really me," he replies, turning to look at Arthur sideways as he says it.

The other man makes it a point to look away and not turn back to them.

"You're not even ugly!" Ariadne accuses teasingly. "I thought for sure that you were always changing your appearance because you were secretly ugly!" she admits with a casual shrug.

"Why _thank you_, Funny Girl! I'll take that as a compliment!" Eames laughs as he ruffles her hair fondly. "Just so you know," he stage whispers as he leans closer to her, "I'm taken – even if he won't admit it yet!"

The younger woman giggles as she tries not to look at the point man (and fails). "I know," she whispers back. She then grabs her camera and wraps an arm around his neck, pulling him closer as her other arm shoots out to take a picture or two for posterity. "Say 'cheese'!" she says as she snaps a couple of not-too-out-of-center shots. She's sticking her tongue out and generally just behaving in a silly way, but yet it's also obvious that she's genuinely touched that he decided he trusts her enough for this.

Arthur shakes his head and it takes all his willpower not to smile, or turn invisible.

Eames considers this a personal victory.

Ariadne just grins happily and then teases that she liked Elvis better.

Eames isn't offended. No one can compare to the King after all. That's why he's the King.

* * *

Eames is many things, but discreet is not one of them, not unless he wants to be. And that's only when they're on a job – and to be precise, 'when they're on a job' doesn't include 'when they're in their base'. Arthur's always known this too well, but suddenly it's unbearable. Even more than before – _before_, he could just threaten to shoot him. Now, he can only pretend to ignore him.

"You're really a stubborn bastard, aren't you?" he can't help but ask with a roll of his eyes (and a perfectly concealed smile).

The shape-shifter stops mid-rant and frowns at him, raising an eyebrow. "How can I ever hope to get you to see how crazy we are about each other if I give up every time you frown at me? Which is all the time, by the way."

Arthur freezes for all of a second – because it annoys him that he can so easily and so verbally state his attraction – and as he replies to him he rolls his eyes. "You are _relentless_."

Eames shrugs – actually looks _pleased_, the bastard, and Arthur want to shake him and get it through his thick head that it _wasn't a compliment_. "Yes, well, I _will_ get us there, eventually."

"Give it up, Eames, you've been at this for nearly two weeks now—"

"Nearly four months, actually," Eames interrupts him easily as he looks down at his cuffs like he's just made a comment about the weather. "I've been 'at this', as you put it, for nearly four months."

_Since Russia_ hangs unspoken between them, but they both know very well that's what he means. It's how he feels – how they both feel. That's when they started to admit that if nothing else, they at least _trusted_ each other. And in their line of work, that's more important than actually liking someone.

"So why didn't you kiss me, back in Moscow?" Arthur asks him suddenly, turning to him with a slight frown. "I wanted you to," he admits in a quiet voice. "And you had this appearance. So why didn't you?"

Eames frowns and shakes his head as he runs a hand through his hair. "I wanted to, so badly…"

"So why didn't you?" the point man asks again.

"Because I was scared you'd use your fever as an excuse!" the forger replies, voice rising slightly. Frowning, he looks over at the other and shrugs, at a loss. "I always made my attraction obvious but the same can't be said about you! I was scared that if I kissed you then, the day after you'd just say that you weren't in your normal state, that the fever was to blame and that you'd made a mistake! I wanted it to mean something…to have you _want it_, not catch you in a moment of weakness!"

Arthur wants to act hurt and get mad at him for even thinking it, but honestly, he can't deny that it's the way he comes across – and it's his own doing. "It wouldn't have been like that," he tells him in a somewhat gentle voice. "But I…get it. I can't exactly argue with your logic," he admits with a small self-depreciating smile.

"I'd be more than happy to make up for it now," Eames assures him innocuously as he takes a step closer, confident grin on his face.

"Eames…" Arthur warns good-naturedly, although he doesn't step away.

"I'm just saying…" the other replies casually, definitely not stepping back until he's clearly told to.

"Those lips can't be real," the point man dismisses as he deliberately ignores the hand that's sneaking around his waist.

Eames laughs at this. "I got them from my Mum, honest to God!" he assures him with a grin. The grin turns into a warm smile as Arthur's arms rise to settle loosely around his neck. "This is really me, Arthur," he promises him as he looks him in the eyes.

"I believe you now, or at least I might start to," the younger man whispers against his lips before he closes the distance between them. And he lets himself kiss the other back without any doubts, and somehow it's even better than he remembers. At the back of his mind, he thinks he may be forgetting something, something important he has to do, but he just can't bring himself to care, not while Eames is kissing him like that and certainly not while he's pushing him back against the desk. Of course, neither of them pays attention to the door opening, or someone walking closer until Cobb clears his throat.

"While I realize that I'm completely interrupting and you've clearly got more important things in mind," he begins as they part, "I trust you remember that we're supposed to get to the airport within the hour?" he asks, raising an eyebrow in amusement, having much more fun out of this than he ever should. Ah, so _that_ was it, that nagging feeling at the back of mind – a job to do. Damn.

"Five more minutes, Daddy Cobb?" Eames asks him with a wide grin, decidedly not planning on moving his hands from the point man's waist.

Dom laughs at this and shakes his head as he walks back out. "Fine, _yes_, anything if it means I don't get to hear you complain that I've interrupted you during our flight! Five minutes!" he repeats as he's at the door, pausing. "Oh, and I'm happy for you two, by the way."

"Much appreciated!" the forger calls back with a wide grin.

"'Daddy Cobb'?" Arthur repeats with a raised eyebrow.

"He'll definitely skin me alive if I hurt you, and he's the oldest," Eames replies as though it makes perfect sense. "Now…I negotiated for five minutes, and I'm not wasting them discussing Cobb's nickname."

Arthur can't think of a reason to argue with that.

Daddy Cobb is nice enough to give them a whole ten minutes before hollering that the plane won't wait for them and don't they _dare_ miss it on purpose. They grudgingly comply. They've got an important job to do after all, and they're professionals.

As for after…there's much to look forward to.

* * *

After the overnight flight it takes them to get to Hong Kong, each of them is grumpy as they arrive in their new location – even when flying business class and managing to get some shut-eye, it's just not the same as actually getting some real sleep in a real bed.

"We've got some time before the target arrives – let's stop by the hotel and try to get some rest," Dom says with a sigh as he checks the time.

Still, when they reach their room – Eames having shifted into a woman to request that she and her husband get a king sized bed, to Arthur's great embarrassment and Dom's great amusement – they're so tired their heads barely hit the pillows before they're falling asleep.

Arthur lets Eames pull him into his arms and doesn't fight his urge to get as close to him as is physically possible, sighing contentedly as he nuzzles the other's neck. Eames grins lazily as he presses a kiss to the top of his head, libido on standby as the small things can also be immensely agreeable to enjoy.

When they wake up a couple of hours later better rested, it doesn't take long for them to find themselves in a lip lock, kissing leisurely as hands lazily pull the other closer.

"Now?" Eames asks with a grin as he feels the other's hands under his shirt, pushing the fabric up.

"Now," Arthur confirms against his lips, the grin contagious as deft hands unbutton his shirt. Inwardly he thinks that he's never felt so eager before, that no lover has ever been able to make him feel what Eames creates in him with a simple touch, with a simple kiss, even a simple word. "Leonard," he breathes out as those lips move down to his neck, making his back arch off the mattress.

Eames pulls back slightly at that, and looks at him with tenderness in his eyes, smiling as he presses their lips together. "I do love hearing you say my name," he admits as he nuzzles his cheek, his stubble tickling him the slightest bit.

"Then don't stop," is Arthur's advice as he raises his head to kiss him slowly, deeply, and his hands go down the other's body to unbuckle his belt. The metallic sound seemingly resounds in the room before it's engulfed by the sound of someone knocking at their door.

"It's time, guys, she'll be at the hospital soon," Cobb's voice tells them from the other side.

"No he didn't," Eames groans out, and if looks could kill the door would be dust and Dominick Cobb would be even less than that.

"I'm afraid he did," Arthur replies with a sigh as he lets himself fall back on the bed, taking a few deep breaths and trying to think of anything other than the dazzling half-undressed man who's still on top of him.

"I'll kill him this time," the forger promises as he sends his would-be-lover a pained look before rolling off of him.

"No you won't," the point man replies, because that's all he can say – and because he feels the same way, but _someone_ in this relationship needs to keep his homicidal tendencies at bay, dammit! "We'll be right along!" he calls back to Dom. He then turns his head to the other and chuckles because Eames is _pouting_. (And whatever happened to the 'grown men don't pout' rule?) "Come on Mr. Eames, you know what they say: 'third time's the charm'," he whispers against his lips. "In the meantime, we have a job to do."

Eames nods and in less than ten minutes they're out the door and joining Cobb in the hotel's hall. "Cobb, has anyone ever told you that you're a cock-block? Because I find it important to inform you that you completely are," Eames enlightens him quite naturally in a woman's appearance as they make their way to the hospital where their mark is supposed to visit an ill aunt.

Cobb nearly chokes on his own saliva because really, _no_, he's never been told that before, and he _would_ apologize if those words hadn't brought up positively embarrassing mental images. The worst part is he's actually amused about the whole thing.

And Arthur is bright red but to his own horror he can't fight the grin that is taking over his mouth, and when Eames turns to wink at him, there's that familiar twinkle in 'her' eyes, and he can't help but shake his head fondly at the shape-shifter's antics.

* * *

At first, the job goes well enough. It starts normally, easily, right on schedule and as expected. The first level, Arthur's dream, works just like it should. And for a while, in the second level, in his own dream, Eames thinks that this is yet another job that will shortly be well done. He's busy distracting their target, taking on the appearance of the dying aunt that she's visiting at the moment. They're having a talk on life and death, sitting by a pond that can be seen from the window of the dying woman's hospital room in the real world. But suddenly the water stills completely, and there's a shift in the air, almost like a shift of gravity itself. He hears footsteps behind him and turns in time to see a beautiful woman he's never seen before hold a gun to his head and shoot.

When his eyes snap open in the first level of the dream, Arthur frowns at him. "What happened? You weren't supposed to wake up just yet!" he curses as he looks at Dom, still asleep – but he knows the man can maintain the dream for a short moment longer even as it collapses.

"I haven't the faintest idea – a projection appeared out of nowhere and shot me!" the shape shifter replies as one hand touches his forehead, confirming there's no bullet lodged in it.

Cobb opens his eyes and sits up to look at Eames urgently. "What happened? Did her subconscious turn on you?"

"Apparently, since a woman shot me!" the man replies still a bit in shock.

Dom frowns at this, sharing a look with Arthur. "It's strange…I didn't get the feeling she was attuned to us at all. The collapse was as sudden as unexpected…"

"Did you get the information?" Arthur asks him then, because honestly something feels wrong here, and if they avoid spending any longer than they have to in her subconscious and return to reality he's all for it.

The extractor nods and closes his eyes, taking a deep breath to pull them out of the shared dream. As three pairs of eyes open to the real world, three hands automatically go for their respective totem to confirm that they're back.

Upon leaving the hospital, they unanimously agree to get their bags back from the hotel and head to the airport to leave Hong Kong as soon as possible. There's a late night flight that they're able to board, and though they try they can't manage to sleep through most of it.

Cobb is silent, lost in thoughts as he looks out the small window. A few seats away, on a row on their own, Arthur and Eames watch '_Die Hard 4_'. ("It's our thing, Darling! Bruce bridged the gap between us – in Russian, no less!") Although the shape shifter behaves more like a teenager at the cinema, what with 'accidentally' bumping their knees and pretending he's stretching his arm to touch the other. Arthur may complain, but really, it's only for the principle.

"Penny for your thoughts, Love?" Eames inquires after the second movie's ended (happily, of course – what else would you expect from a comedy?).

Arthur chuckles and looks him in the eyes. "I was thinking about that third time…" he says with a casual shrug. "And how it's supposed to be the charm."

The forger nearly groans as he takes a gulp of his drink. "It shouldn't be legal for you to mention this in a confined _public_ space where I can't do anything to remedy the issue," he informs him.

"I know. You're coming back to my place though, aren't you?" the point man replies, tilting his head to look at him sideways.

"Oh, _absolutely_, Darling," is the other's very fervent answer.

* * *

The door isn't entirely closed yet when Arthur slams Eames back against it, one of his hands fumbling to set the locks in place as they kiss roughly. The forger's hands have already undone the buttons of his waistcoat and are busy with his shirt when the 'click' noise confirms they won't be bothered. Arthur grins against the other man's mouth as he grabs both sides of Today's Ugly Shirt and undoes the buttons, perhaps with less care than he'd show a _nice_ shirt, as a few buttons fly off and fall to the ground with small patter sounds.

"Eager much, are we, Love?" Eames asks in amusement as he shrugs his jacket and victimized shirt off. "I bet you enjoyed that."

"Well I _have_ wanted to do that to your horrid shirts for a long time," the point man confirms with a smirk as he pulls back and takes off his own jacket and waistcoat while stepping backwards towards the bedroom. "I'll buy you another one," he promises in a tone he intends to sound solemn as his hands move to finish unbuttoning his own shirt.

"Oh you are driving me _right off the wall_," the older man groans as he closes the distance between them to assist him in getting the last articles of clothing off. In a corner of his mind, he notes that Arthur's hands work _fast_, and before he knows it he's shoved back on the bed and Arthur's climbing over him – and a part of him relishes the fight for dominance he knows will ensue.

Arthur knows what he wants in a lover and doesn't hesitate to ask, and Eames knows without the shadow of a doubt that _no one else_ could ever compare now, and strangely enough it doesn't scare him as much as he thought it would. Neither of them is being gentle or slow, or even careful, so elbows and knees and noses bump frequently but that's okay, it's part of the charm, it adds grins and breathless laughter to their kisses. Eames thinks he might be falling in love all over again and actually maybe he does. Judging by the smile that's currently splitting Arthur's face, he thinks it may be mutual.

Then the younger man says, "In the nightstand's drawer," and he's not wasting any more time overthinking this. They're in a lip-lock again as soon as gets what they'll need, and the forger surprises himself with the thought that if they did nothing but kiss like that for the rest of times, he'd be perfectly happy. But then Arthur takes matters into his own hands and reminds him that it can always get _better_ as he stops their little wrestling game and settles under the other's body, telling him a simple, "Now or never, Mr. Eames." He doesn't need to be told twice.

Eames is rough, his movements irregular and nearly desperate as they devour each other's lips, hands grasping skin harshly leaving angry red marks and they know they'll both hurt in the morning, but it just doesn't matter right now because – finally, _finally_! – they both _need_ this, need the physical contact as proof that they're _okay_, they're _real_ and most importantly they're _together_, roughness be damned. (And okay, admittedly, they may be trying to avoid all risks of interruption – and both their phones are switched off to ward away Cobb.)

There are moments when Eames seems to be suddenly aware of this, to snap out of the passion haze as he slows down ever so slightly, moves _just so_, and whispers apologies that are nearly lost in their kisses, but Arthur doesn't mind – doesn't _care_ – and he just pulls him closer, wrapping his arms more tightly around his hips, and he just doesn't want him to stop, _ever_, and he wants those lips on his _forever_. And as the movements become more jarred and less coordinated, Eames doesn't call him any of the usual pet names and says his name over and over – "Arthur, Arthur, _Arthur_!" – it's like a chant, really, and Arthur's never heard anything better, not even remotely close, and he's suddenly and for the first time of his life impressed with _his own name_ because he never knew it could sound _like this_, so brilliant and _new_. And while he wants those lips to stay on his, he also wants to remember how he sounds, and never let go of that memory. But then white explodes before his vision and he closes his eyes at the sheer _brightness_ of it _all_, and he breathes out one word – _"Leonard!"_ – and Eames smiles against his neck and he has to return that smile because he feels like those lovesick schoolgirls who dream about _being one_ and damn it it's cliché as Hell but it's all that comes to mind right now.

Eames sags boneless against him and they're both out of breath. While he'd normally push his lover aside for a shower about right now, Arthur finds that _he_ _doesn't care_; he never wants Eames to move and as far as he's concerned the World can end right this second and he won't mind, chances are he probably won't even notice. Not when Eames is looking at him like that – like he's _everything_ – and pressing lazy kisses to his lips, trying to rest most of his weight on his forearms so as not to completely crush him under his body.

"Third time's the charm," Arthur murmurs contentedly, his smile reaching his eyes.

"Yes, Love," Eames agrees with a chuckle. "You get to say 'I told you so'."

The point man doesn't need to be told twice. "I told you so," he says smartly.

The forger rolls his eyes fondly. "You're lucky I'm crazy about you," he teases as he shifts his weight and rests his face in the crook of his lover's neck.

_Yes I am_, Arthur thinks but he just kisses his forehead.

Later, they see that they'd been right about turning off their phones; Ariadne and Cobb both tried to reach them but didn't leave a message, so it mustn't have been important.

Arthur sends them both a text to warn that unless it's for emergencies, he and Eames won't be available for the next few days, and he pretends to be upset when Eames sends Cobb another message reading: '_Your attempt at cock-blocking failed this time, but nice try!_'

In retrospect, he really shouldn't have laughed that much, but then again, it earned him round two, so he's not exactly complaining.

* * *

"Are you aware that you snore? Because you do," is the first thing that Eames tells him when Arthur wakes up.

The point man frowns sleepily and promptly buries his face back into the other's neck. "You're a real charmer," he comments, voice muffled. "I'm swept off my feet."

The shape shifter laughs, the motion shaking them both slightly. "It wasn't a complaint, Love," he assures him as he kisses the top of his head. "Just a simple fact – something I discovered today. I like finding out things about you," he murmurs contentedly.

Arthur smiles against his neck and he knows the other can feel it because another kiss is pressed to his forehead. They remain in comfortable silence for some time then, one of his hands toying with the other's. At some point, he realizes that he can hear the sound of traffic well enough, and that the light filtering in between the shades seems a bit dimmed. "What time is it?" he wonders out loud in a quiet voice.

Eames cranes his neck and extends a hand to grab his watch from where he tossed it on the nightstand. "Almost 7," he reads.

"PM?" Arthur asks as he raises his head.

"The date hasn't changed, so I'd say yes." He puts the watch back down and raises an eyebrow playfully. "Why, do you have a date?"

The younger man laughs and kisses him. "As a matter of fact, I do," he teases against his lips. "With dinner. I'm starving!"

"I'll say…" the forger comments slyly as he watches him get up. The other sends him a look, so he shrugs innocently and grabs his phone to check for messages. Two new ones: _Cobb told me. I'm so happy for you two ;)_ from Ariadne, and _There is such a thing as too much information, Eames. By the way, hurt him and I'll skin you alive_, from Cobb – and he has to smile fondly at both, because he _likes_ these people, really! They're both getting a hug when he sees them again. Well…his Funny Girl's getting a hug, for sure. Dom…the jury's still out on that one.

A moment later, Eames notices that Arthur is a bit distracted as they wait for the take-out delivery they ordered. But he doesn't need to ask him what he's thinking about; he's got that work face on, the one he always has during the planning phase – the point man's look. Finally the doorbell rings, and when he returns from the door ruffling through the bag for his share, Arthur's arms are crossed over his chest as he sits on the counter – it's a strange mix between serious and casual, which is not to his displeasure.

"Eames…" he starts and Eames knows something is really bugging him because he seems to be hesitating – practically struggling with something – and that's really unusual for him.

"Yes?" he asks him as he sets the bag down and moves to stand between his legs, resting a comforting hand on his thigh, smiling as the other automatically covered it with own, running his fingers up his arm distractedly.

"Back in the dream…you said a projection – a woman – appeared out of nowhere and shot you…" the point man recalls with a frown. The other nods and he sighs. "Could you…could you take her appearance? I mean, if you had enough time to get a good look, that is."

Eames raises an eyebrow at the strange request. "Why do I get the feeling there's something you're not telling me?"

Arthur shakes his head, visibly struggling with something. "It's…I'm not sure about it. But for just a moment, during one of our dream sessions, I thought I saw…" he trails off with a shake of the head, as if trying to shake the thought itself out, not wanting to believe it.

"What…?" the other asked with a frown.

"Someone who shouldn't have been there," the point man finishes with a sigh.

Eames nods, seeing this troubles him. Taking a step back, he closes his eyes as he tries to envision the woman's appearance clearly in his mind – her wide blue eyes, cold as ice, her short dark hair, falling in curly locks around her pale face, her twisted smile, half-sad half-predatory – and when he changes his appearance, Arthur pales immediately, and the look of pure horror on his face is enough to make Eames shift back into himself in a heartbeat. "Arthur, what is it? Who is she?"

"I need to speak to Dom," is all the other says as he jumps down from the counter and walks to get his phone and keys.

"Arthur, wait!" Eames calls back as he walks after him. "Who is she?" he asks more gently as he grabs his arm.

Arthur has a half-pained half-angry look on his face, and his voice nearly breaks as he answers him. "That's…that's Mal…his wife…his _late_ wife…"

To be continued…

I think this is the first time I've written a true cliffhanger…wow I actually feel evil…but on the other hand, I finally gave you the get-together! You can't have it all, folks!  
I think it safe to say the next update will be during my sweet, sweet, _blessed_ time off in June...stay tuned! Good luck with work for those who work, and good luck with exams for those who study! :)


	5. Partners In Crime

Tadaa! I know I said this would come a lot earlier, but I've been recently having a hard time at work which has me seriously considering a career change which frankly scares me a bit. So, big chapter, because it might be a while before I can get in a creative mood again. Enjoy!

* * *

Dom immediately tenses as loud pounding on his door sounds out later on. Grabbing his gun, he removes the safety as he carefully moves into the corridor. He instantly relaxes as his unannounced visitor sounds out. "Arthur…" he realizes in surprise as he puts his gun away and opens the door. "Arthur, what's going on?" Briefly he wonders if this late visit when he and Eames should be enjoying a 'honeymoon' state of sorts means he'll need to make real on his threat to skin the forger alive after all (and so soon!), but he can see the man a few steps back, looking both worried and perplexed.

The point man shoves past him at that. "We need to talk," is all he says.

Eames averts his eyes and Dom knows it's bad – only, he can't imagine what would get the two into such a state. Wordlessly, he closes the door and follows his friend back to the living-room. "Arthur, are you finally going to tell me what's—"

"Do you know who shot him?" Arthur suddenly asks as he points to Eames.

Briefly Cobb wonders if he's going all protective boyfriend on him, but one look at his face and he knows it's serious. "A projection," he replies carefully.

The younger man shakes his head. "Yes but do you know what this projection looked like? _Who_ it looked like?" he asks him.

"Who..?" Dom asks, although he's now a bit scared to find out.

Arthur walks to him, and rests a hand on his shoulder, gently guiding him to sit down. "Mal."

"No," is the extractor's immediate response, shaking his head vehemently and he springs up.

"Yes. Dom, _yes_, and I am _so sorry_—"

"He doesn't even know her!" Dom yells as he points a finger at Eames.

"He took her appearance, Dom! And I saw her too," Arthur says with enough force in his voice to be heard.

This causes Dom to freeze. "Why didn't you say something?" he asks in disbelief as he slumps back down on the couch.

"I didn't…I thought I was tired, or that perhaps your subconscious was bringing her in – we were in your dream at the time…" Arthur replies as he sits down next to him. "But this time Eames was the dreamer – he couldn't have brought her in."

"And she shot him…" he murmurs. He then looks up at the forger. "Show me."

"Ah…I'm not sure that it's such a good idea…" the shape shifter starts, but Arthur nods at him, so he sighs and shifts, just long enough for a broken look of recognition – and longing – to pass over the older man's face. "I'm sorry," Eames says softly, because he really is – and what else can he say?

There's silence for a moment, and Arthur gets up to grab a glass of water from the kitchen. Dom accepts it gratefully and nearly drains it in one gulp. "What does this mean, Dom? Are the dreams escaping your control?" he asks him gently but sternly, knowing what this could mean for them.

Dom shakes his head, wiping his mouth as he gets up and starts pacing. "No, no I…I don't think so…perhaps…perhaps I just miss her I—seeing Miles again, being in Paris, it brings back memories…" he rambles.

Eames sighs as he crosses his arms over his chest. "Would it be safe to keep on working like this? Perhaps we should hold off…until you fix it?"

"Until I 'fix' _what_, Eames? Until I stop missing my wife?" Dom asks back tiredly.

"That's not what I meant, I apologize," the shape shifter replies quietly.

Cobb shakes his head. "No, no, don't…don't apologize…you're just worried about your and Arthur's safety, I can understand that…" he assures him as rubs his eyes tiredly before letting himself fall back against the cushions. "I…I need some time to think about this…"

Arthur frowns – he'd much rather help him, but then he realizes that he doesn't know how, he doesn't even know that he could. "Are you sure?"

"Yes, Arthur. Please…" he replies wearily, suddenly looking much older.

Arthur nods and stands up, then quietly leaves the apartment with Eames. The forger wordlessly holds out a hand to grab his, and unconsciously he finds himself squeezing back. The walk back to his own place is silent, much slower paced than the walk to Dom's had been, and when they get in bed, he lets the other pull him into his arms without resisting.

"I know he dreams about her regularly," he says after some time spent in the dark. Eames strokes his hair absently and he concentrates on these fingers as he wraps his arm more tightly around the other's waist. "Dreams he creates, I mean…"

"Well perhaps he's been working too hard, and unconsciously mixed the two kinds of dreams then…" Eames finishes his thought, his other hand resting on the arm around his waist.

Arthur nods, because he wants to believe that it's true, that it's just tiredness showing itself, and not a sign that his best friend is losing it – even worse than that, he's losing _himself_. "I've never lost anyone…anyone I really loved, I mean," he adds, frowning.

"I thought you were close to Mal?" Eames asks curiously.

"Yes and she was lovely, she was a friend, but in a sense, to me…really she was firstly Dom's wife…" the point man replies, watching the strange shadows created on the ground by what little light filtered in through the shades. "I was sad to learn what happened, sad to know I'd never see her again, so sad for the ones she left behind, but…"

"But it was sadness, and not loss," the forger says softly, understanding what he means. "She didn't leave a void in your life. It's nothing to feel bad about. I know the feeling." There he pauses and seems to hesitate for a second before speaking again. "I lost an aunt when I was younger. I liked her, and I was really sad about it, but honestly after getting the news and feeling bad about it for a short moment, I moved on. I think in the end really it's my father I was sad for, because he lost his sister, and to him, that really did create a void in his life," he tells him with a sigh as he recalls these events. "Kind of like you and Cobb…"

"Yes, exactly!" Arthur agrees, and he's so glad that Eames _gets_ him, and now trusts him enough to open up more about his life. "And I can't…I can't really imagine the feeling but…I think I understand him a bit…his need to see her again."

"I don't," is Eames' reply, and there's no hint of doubt in it.

"No?" Arthur asks back, pulling his head back slightly so he can look at him – although in the shadows, he's only able to make out his shape.

Eames frowns but keeps his eyes on the ceiling as he speaks. "What's the use of looking back? The only thing it's ever going to be is a reminder of what you lost. You won't let yourself move on this way. Why would you ever want that?" he wonders quietly, and he sounds so certain that it's obvious he speaks from experience.

Arthur wants to ask him about it, but then he figures that Eames…_Leonard_ will tell him if and when he's willing, someday. Showing himself in his real appearance was already a spectacular show of trust, so he's disposed to wait for him to be ready to share more. Besides, it's not like he himself has told him all about his own life.

Two days later, Dom calls for a meeting.

* * *

When Eames and Ariadne step into their base that day, they're bickering about coffees and 'what type of doughnut is best'. Arthur – he was there first, of course – fondly rolls his eyes at their antics but smiles as his lover wordlessly hands him his cup – along with a quick kiss.

The forger then stops and his eyes widen in surprise before he frowns as there is another man by the windows. And he knows that man. "Yusuf? What in the blazes are you doing here?"

The jovial man turns to him with a grin. "Ah, Eames I take it? So this is the face you walk around with these days!" he notes as they clap hands and shoulders like old friends reuniting. "Oddly befitting," he comments with a nod.

Eames grins at him before noticing that the other two are staring twin holes through his skull and he turns to them. "Yusuf is an old…" there he trails off, not sure how to qualify their acquaintance.

"'Partners in crime' would suit us best, I would say," Yusuf interjects with a grin.

"Partners in crime indeed!" Eames repeats as the two share a dark chuckle, obviously thinking back on a particular heist. "Anyway. I assume you've already met Arthur. This lovely young lady would be Ariadne," he introduces quickly.

"A pleasure," the man assures her with a wide smile as they shake hands. "Cobb is full of praise for your wits," he informs her.

She blushes happily at his comment before looking around for their boss. "Where is he by the way?"

"Yes, and what brings you here, old friend?" the forger asks as he sits down on Arthur's desk.

"A job, what else?" Yusuf asks back as he waves his hand to show them the chemical equipment he'd been laying over the two desks by the window.

"You're a scientist?" Ariadne asks curiously as she looks at all the apparatus she hadn't seen since science class in high school.

"A _mad_ scientist, Funny Girl," Eames comments with a huff from his seat.

Yusuf sighs, obviously having heard that one plenty of times. "Yes, indeed. And shortly, I will take over the World – and you, my unsuspecting minions, will do all the work for me as I step back and indulge in my evil laugh!" he mutters as he turns back to unloading his cases. "Ha ha bloody ha!

"Cobb's on the phone," Arthur informs the other two, half-amused. So they wait, occupying themselves until their boss comes out of his office to tell them why they're here. Eames equally divides his time between catching up with Yusuf and flirting with Arthur while the point man catches up on their mails, and Ariadne is full of questions about the various chemicals littering the table that the chemist is all too happy to answer.

It's a good half-hour later when Dom walks out of his office, raising an eyebrow at them. "Well, I see you've taken care of the introductions on your own!" he notes with a slight smile. Walking to Yusuf's desks, he sits down where he can – meaning where there aren't bottles labeled 'explosive' or 'flammable'. "Yusuf here is the one who's been tailoring the sedatives we use for years," he informs him.

Arthur frowns, because this means it was always a three-man team even when he thought he and Dom were on their own.

"The sedatives have to be special?" Ariadne asks, swallowing a mouthful of pink frosted doughnut.

"You see, if you use plain sedatives, the person will just fall into dreamless slumber – normal sedatives shut down the mind as well, which wouldn't work for us," Yusuf sets to explain as he pulls off his glasses and cleans the lenses. "So I've developed a particular sedative for Cobb that only puts the body to sleep – also, importantly, that allows for a prompt wake-up and no strange after-effect. Fascinating work, really," he finishes with an appreciative nod towards the other man.

"So what brings you here now?" Arthur asks with a frown and Dom inwardly cringes, because this really means 'as opposed to _before_, when I wasn't aware of your existence'.

"You've brought to my attention that some aspects of the dreams are completely escaping my control," Cobb begins, hoping to placate him. "We're going to work with Yusuf to develop a new component that will help correct this." There he paused and looked at them one by one. "I've got a big job lined up – bigger than anything we've ever done before."

Eames raises an eyebrow at that, crossing his arms over his chest. "Would you mind giving us more details, instead of going with the clichéd cliff-hanger?"

Ariadne snorts in amusement into her drink at that but doesn't add anything else.

Dom wants to be amused but he can't find it in him. "Inception," is all he says.

Arthur's eyes widen. "You can't be serious," he tells him firmly.

"Arthur—"

"You've told me yourself it can't be done!" the point man interrupts him.

"Would you care to explain this for those of us who are completely lost?" Eames asks as his eyes trail between the two.

Arthur shakes his head as he turns to him, shifting his gaze between him and Ariadne. "What we've been doing, it's nicknamed 'extraction' – pulling ideas from someone's mind. 'Inception' is the name that was given to the notion of _putting_ an idea in someone's mind," he tells them.

"Can you _do_ that?" Ariadne asked with wide eyes, looking at Cobb with a mix of fear and curiosity.

"Theoretically yes, but in practice, it's impossible!" Arthur tells her.

Cobb sighs as he rubs his eyes tiredly. "It's possible, just difficult," he assures them. Silence follows this and he lets out a deep breath as he stands up. "Look…I wanted to give you a heads-up. The plan is to give the heir to a huge corporate empire the idea to dissolve the company once he inherits it from his dying father. There's going to be a lot of research involved, we're definitely going to need to have appearances from people he can trust, and for the idea of stick we'll need to go three levels deep," he tells them, looking at Arthur, Eames and Ariadne as he explains how they're invaluable to the plan. "Think on it. We start working on it tomorrow – if you're not there I won't think any less of you," he finishes with a shrug.

Ariadne unconsciously bites on her straw as she mulls it over, not wanting to step out, but not willing to step into something she doesn't fully understand either.

Eames notices this and turns to Arthur. He mouths '_your decision'_ to him, waiting for the quick half-smile that acknowledges he understands, and stands to wrap an arm around the younger woman's shoulders and steer her out. "Come on, Funny Girl, let's go get lunch."

"But we just got breakfast," she protests half-heartedly.

"Then let's go stare at good-looking boys until you're hungry again!" the forger replies as though it's obviously the thing to do.

Arthur rolls his eyes at their antics, but his gaze is unflinching as it falls back on his friend. Wordlessly, he walks into his office, knowing the other will follow. "You're supposed to trust me, Dom! You're supposed to come to me when something like that comes up!" he begins. "Just give me one good reason I shouldn't walk out on you now."

"This could get me back home," Dom tells him in a strong voice, placing his hands on his shoulders and looking him in the eyes. "This could get me back to James and Philippa," he repeats more softly.

Arthur hates it, but upon hearing this he deflates entirely. "Are you sure about this?"

The extractor nods at this, squeezing his shoulders. "Saito's the one commissioning this job. You know he's got the contacts to lift all charges."

"Saito? Does he know that we almost messed up in Hong Kong?" the point man asks him with a frown.

"But we didn't, and that's what matters," Dom insists.

Arthur sighs deeply at that. The moment Dom mentioned his children, he knew he'd be in – scratch that, even without that, he'd have been in – but now, Eames' participation depends on his – and probably Ariadne, as she would take the job if they both did. "You've told me – repeatedly – that inception can't be done. Dom, if I walk into this, if I let Eames and Ariadne walk into this, I have to know we're not marching on to catastrophe!"

"It _can_ be done," Cobb assures him, stepping away to look out the window. "It's just very difficult," he repeats.

"Why didn't you just tell me that then?" the point man asks with a frown.

"Because I didn't want it to be known – even _suspected_ – that it's feasible. I mean it's something big, something that could completely redefine someone – I didn't want the knowledge that I can do that out in the world," he tells him.

Arthur nods, crossing his arms over his chest. "Have you done it before?"

It's almost an eternity before Dom answers. "Yes. That's how I know it can be done." Before his friend can ask more, he turns back to him. "Trust me, Arthur. Just this one last time, please."

It's a cheap shot, appealing to trust in such an instance, but Arthur knows that this was actually decided long before they even walked into this office. "I'll talk it over with Eames and Ariadne," he tells him finally. "They deserve to know what they're signing up for."

"Ok," is all that Dom tells him. When he's at the door though, he calls back to him. "Arthur? Thank you. For everything."

"Don't thank me yet," Arthur replies with a huff to hide his embarrassment.

Dom just smiles knowingly.

* * *

When Arthur finds them at the nearby public park, Ariadne is munching on a brioche of some kind. "So should I deduce from your indulgence in food that you've found enough good-looking boys to stare at?" Arthur asks with a raised eyebrow.

The younger girl laughs as she brushes her hair out of her face. "Ooh, _lots_!"

"Are you jealous, Darling?" Eames asks with a wide grin. "You should know by now you're the only one for me!" he teases him as he shifts a bit on the bench and pats the space next to him.

The point man snorts at his behavior but sits down anyway, and they're silent for a moment.

"Ooh, look at _him_! And he's got friends! And they've got uniforms!" Ariadne stage whispers in amusement as she points to a group of students. "I just might be getting hungry again!"

Eames laughs but shakes his head. "They're a bit young for my tastes, Funny Girl!"

"They're not _that_ young," she comments as she leans her head back on his arm.

"Not for _you_, no, but I'm an old man!" he says with a nod as he pokes her forehead. He then smirks as he turns his head to the other. "I like them older!" he says teasingly as he places a quick kiss on his temple.

"As cute as you are and as super-happy as I am for you, could you like, _not_ keep reminding me that I'm single and you're not?" she asks with a pout as she stuffs what's left of her pastry in her mouth.

Arthur smiles at her and before the two can get back to bickering like children he interrupts them (because he knows that Eames is buying him time on purpose). "So…about this job…"

"So is it doable or not?" Ariadne asks with a frown as she sits up straight.

"I…guess it is," he tells her.

"So why did you say otherwise before?" she asks back earnestly. It's always like this with her: she wants to know something, she asks. Simply. No preambles, no detours, it's straight to the chase – but without being judgmental, either.

"Cobb's the one who told me it couldn't be done," he begins quietly. "But it seems like it's more a matter or _won't_ rather than _can't_."

"So this time he's decided that he _will_," Eames comments seriously as one hand taps the back of the bench in an irregular rhythm. "Why?"

_And there it is_, Arthur thinks. He won't lie to them – he doesn't want to. "Our client is big enough that…if this works, Dom will be able to go back home to his children."

Ariadne leans over Eames to look at him then, confusion written all over his face. "You mean right now he can't? Why?"

"There are things we don't talk about, Funny Girl," Eames answers quietly. "Most people don't join our line of work just because they're bored or broke. Cobb's life and his reasons are his own," he says with finality, but no meanness in his voice. As she nods her understanding, he turns back to Arthur. "However, as it stands – and while I am quite fond of Cobb and would be quite willing to help him – what I wish to know is this: is it reasonably feasible?" he asks him seriously. "I will not walk into a fool's errand for him – and I won't let you two do it, either," he adds in a low voice, all traces of amusement gone from his face.

Arthur's expression softens and he places a hand on his lover's leg. "We'll make it work," he replies, and he sounds so certain that he surprises himself.

Eames nods at him, resting his other arm on the back of the bench behind him. "Then I'll definitely need to tag along – if only to ensure that you don't meet someone else while I'm away!"

Ariadne laughs and stands up to throw her bunched up napkin into the bin. "I'm in too, obviously! Perhaps while you keep Arthur busy _I'll_ meet someone!" she adds with a wink and a grin.

The other two laugh at that.

"Yusuf likes younger women," Eames offers quite innocently.

Ariadne blushes and mock-kicks his shin. "Do I sense some _history? _Should Arthur be jealous?" she asks teasingly, poking her tongue out at him.

Arthur laughs at this, turning to the other with an expecting look.

"I said _younger women_ – you'll note I am neither!" the shape shifter remarks with a raised eyebrow.

"Pff, like that means anything with you!" Ariadne dismisses playfully as she takes a few steps to walk on the stones surrounding the pond.

Eames doesn't reply anything, but it's easy to see from his frown that he didn't take it as a meaningless joke. Arthur wants to ask if everything's alright, but then figures that he doesn't want to pry. "I'm going back, better start working on gathering the information we'll need," he tells him as he lets his hand trail over the other's arm down to his hand as he stands up.

Eames smiles back at him, clasping his fingers around his for a second before he lets go. "I'll see you later. I think I need to talk about it with her a bit more…"

"Go easy on her," the point man says. He knows it's important that she understands what they'll be doing exactly, but still, he doesn't want Ariadne's sunny disposition to change – it's a boon to them all, it helps them more than they even realize.

"Of course!" Eames says with a huff as he turns back to look at her. "She's my Funny Girl!"

"Should I be jealous?" Arthur asks quietly with a small smirk.

"_Never_," is the forger's reply, and even though he's smiling his eyes are deadly serious.

* * *

It's not exactly unexpected, but Yusuf seamlessly integrates the team and it's only a matter of minutes before he's in on every joke and conversation, playful banter at the ready. Always jovial, he and Ariadne end up practically performing stand-up comedy unknowingly all the time. It helps turn this new job, this mysterious new possibility of _Inception_, into _just another day_ at work. Even Arthur has to laugh when they debate the Smurfs as a follow-up to a discussion on the Kennedy clan – because there is just _no_ connection whatsoever, but those two always seem to follow the same discontinued train of thoughts.

"Well I don't know…loving someone's a pretty unconscious thing you end up doing, you can't force or control it, but hating someone…truly hating someone, I believe that's a conscious decision," Ariadne comments with a frown as she hovers back to overlook a part of her newest model, flashing a quick look to the scientist. (And that's another thing that fuels many conversations: Yusuf is both fascinated and deeply amused by how she always floats around when she's in deep thoughts – or at least, how she allows herself to do so when around them.) "That's why in my opinion, hatred would be the strongest."

"What do they teach kids these days?" Yusuf wonders out loud, throwing his hands up part in amusement part in sadness. "Now you mark my words, my young pessimistic friend: true love lasts a lifetime, and it conquers all," he says very seriously as he points a finger at her, pulling it back with a yelp as she snaps her teeth in its general direction. (And there's just something too funny about a grown man saying things like that and actually meaning them.)

"It's not pessimism, it's realism!" she insists, crossing her arms over her chest and staring him down with certainty – and it's amazing she manages to do this as she's a good head shorter than him. "People always choose revenge over 'live and let live' – it's human nature! Love always gets the second seat in these instances!"

Yusuf actually raises an eyebrow and grins at that. "You poor, _poor_ child. Your generation is so disenchanted," he comments solemnly.

Ariadne grins widely at this, as though it means the chemist abdicated and she therefore won their little debate. Humming in satisfaction, she crosses her legs, assuming a sitting stance in mid-air as she turns towards the other two. "So, Arthur, Eames, what do you think? What's strongest, love or hate?" she asks brightly.

Arthur raises an eyebrow, thinking she shouldn't have gotten them involved as Eames is sure to start spouting lines on how 'there's nothing stronger than Love!' but to his surprise the shape shifter shakes his head as he leans back in his chair.

"Not going there, Funny Girl," he answers.

"But _why_? I just kicked Yusuf's ass with my awesome debate, you're the 'level up'! The next challenger! The Ultimate fight!" she says as twirls on her back and joins her hands, doing her best impression of a puppy – and she's _good_, damn it.

"She didn't kick my ass!" Yusuf comments indignantly as he turns from his mixing and pouring.

"Yes I did and you know it," Ariadne claims dismissively before turning back to the forger. "Come on Eames…you're being no fun – and that's really unusual!"

The shape shifter merely responds with a dashing smile. "I simply do not share your opinions on the matter of 'what is the most powerful drive in life'."

"You're saying you think there is something stronger than either love or hate?" Yusuf asks with a raised eyebrow. "This is have to hear!"

_So do I_, Arthur thinks, and he really wonders.

Eames for once looks a bit annoyed that the spotlight is on him, as though he doesn't really want to say anything, but now that's he said so much already, he doesn't have a choice. "Blood ties," he says finally with a sigh.

"Blood ties?" Ariadne repeats with a perplexed frown. "But that's not even a feeling."

"No, but it _would_ govern love and hate," Yusuf replies thoughtfully, nodding as though he really can't argue with this logic. "Ariadne, I believe Eames has just kicked your ass!" he informs her jovially. "I suppose it's true what they say: what goes around comes around!"

"Ha ha bloody ha," she replies as she mock-punches his shoulder.

"That's _my_ sarcastic laugh!" the chemist notes indignantly. "Children these days…an entire generation beyond help! Can't even come up with their own sarcastic laugh!" he teases, shaking his head with a sad sigh.

Arthur and Eames smile at their banter, but the point man keeps his eyes on his lover, curious to know more about this. 'Blood ties', he'd said…so who's part of his family, and where are they? Are they still in touch? Do they know? He wants to ask, but then again, in their trade, you just don't advertise your life, even to your friends, even to your lovers – _especially_ to your lovers, in a way.

'Blood ties'…he's not so sure he can agree. He's not so close to his own family. But then again…he knows, without the shadow of a doubt, that if they need him, truly need him, he'll be there. If his brother or his sister were to call in a minute in tears, devastated over something, _anything_, and ask him to come home, he knows he would. And not only because he'd feel _obligated_, or because it would be _expected_…Eames is right: it's much more primal than that. It's…in his blood. Not that he wouldn't do the same for a friend – after all he'd done so much more for Dom – but it's true that people you don't get along with, you just won't help, you can easily drop them out of your life; but family…even if you're not close, they're always family. The pull is often too strong to be ignored.

Arthur then promptly decides to stop dwelling on it after he inadvertently wonders how his family would react to him bringing Leonard home. _Not_ going there yet.

* * *

When Ariadne and Eames walk in the base a few days later (the last ones in, again), there's yet another man seating at a table with Cobb. Ariadne stops in her steps and looks at Eames curiously. He wishes he could give her a clear answer, but he can only make an educated guess: tall, Asian, visibly important (or at least self-important), with ties to Cobb – Saito, the man who hired them for the (nearly-botched) Hong Kong job. Probably their commissioner for this _Inception_ job, then. "Sorry we're late, traffic was madness!" he says as he steps forward. (They all know they were on foot, but no one comments on it.)

Dom shakes his head as he invites them to sit down. "No worries. Now that we're all here, let's get started, shall we?" Yusuf and Arthur stop what they were doing to join them then, and the older man nods a few times as though thinking on his words carefully. "You'll have noticed Mr. Saito has joined us – he's our client for the job. He's here today because he'll be going under with us so we need some practice."

"I wouldn't say there's any room for tourists on a job like this," Eames comments with a raised eyebrow.

Dom looks amused – Saito doesn't. (Arthur looks way too pleased, and it promises there's fun to come, but that's another story altogether.) "I know what I'm doing, Eames – it'll work out," the extractor assures him.

"You're the man, boss," the forger replies, raising his hands in mock-surrender.

So they train the man in dream sharing, and actually it goes quite well, better than they'd have imagined. Ariadne, completely unaware and oblivious to the man's reputation and status, is her usual ray of sunshine in their dull base, and she even miraculously manages to pull out a smile or two from the stern businessman – Yusuf argues it's more of a rictus, but then agrees that with Saito they'll just have to take what they can get.

It doesn't really matter anyway, because the man pretty much comes and goes randomly, probably being too busy ruling over his all-powerful empire or other, so they don't see him much. But on a day that he's there, Eames approaches him.

"Saito, could you get me access to this man? Peter Browning," he asks as he shows him the man's file. "If I'll need to impersonate him, I'd much prefer to have the opportunity to observe him directly, even for only a few hours," he tells him.

Saito takes the file, and Cobb stops by them. "That would indeed be good – I wanted to talk to you about it, but I wasn't sure you'd say yes," he comments, his eyes darting to Arthur for a second.

"Well I think this is one job we can't _over_-prepare for, so I'm willing to take any opportunity to make my forgery flawless," the forger replies. "So is it possible?" he asks again.

"It shouldn't be difficult," Saito confirms. "Assuming you can provide appropriate references," he adds, already taking out his phone to start making arrangements.

Eames' smile is both smug and predatory. "I don't see that it should be a problem!"

Saito leaves to make a few phone calls and Dom excuses himself as he sees Arthur looking at them.

The shape shifter sighs as he walks to him. "Are you mad at me?" he asks him casually.

Arthur chuckles as he looks at him sideways. "It's actually a good idea," he answers.

"But…?" Eames asks knowingly.

The point man shakes his head at that. "No buts," he assures him.

Eames rises to the bait. "Really? Well that's a right _shame_!"

Before Arthur can reply, Saito is back. "Give me the references by tomorrow. If they're good enough you start next Monday," he informs the forger.

"My, you really _do_ have the connections! I'm impressed!" Eames comments with a raised eyebrow and a mock-bow.

It doesn't show, not obviously at least, but Saito is amused – it's become rare to have people actually _dare _to act like that in front of him. "Only if the references are good enough," he reminds him as he walks back to discuss something with Cobb.

"Right!" Eames calls back as he then turns towards Arthur with a playful expression. "So…four doctorates or only three? I don't want to sound _overly_ brilliant…"

Arthur laughs fondly as he shakes his head at his antics. "I'm sure you'll find the right balance," he humors him.

Saito leaves early that day to go back to Japan and then it's back to their usual setup. Word from him comes back one day later that apparently Eames' references were (quote) 'acceptable', and he's set to start working in Peter Browning's office the next week.

On Friday evening, Yusuf insists they go out to have a drink. Dom had excused himself earlier to have dinner with his father-in-law, but the other three are up for it. "Our brains are cooking right in our craniums right now! We need to let off some steam! Besides we need to give Eames a proper sendoff!" the chemist insists even as they've already given in and are making their way towards a nearby pub.

"Aha! An empty table!" Ariadne exclaims happily as she points towards an empty booth, dragging Eames (who is closest) with her towards it. "You two get us drinks!" she instructs the other men.

"Glass of chocolate milk for you, right?" Yusuf calls back with a grin, only loud enough so that the entire pub heard him and laughs right along. It's only loyalty that has Arthur placing a hand in front of his mouth to hide his amusement as he turns to walk to the counter.

They're back not much later and Eames raises an eyebrow and mock-sighs sadly. "Oh, I see they were out of milk," he comments with a shake of the head. "My poor Funny Girl…" he says as he gently pets her head.

"Ha ha bloody ha!" Ariadne mutters back before holding her pint up to toast.

Yusuf narrows his eyes at this. "Stealing my bloody sarcastic laugh _again_! Get your own!" he demands with a scowl as he still clinks his drink to the others'.

"I like this one!" she argues back. "Besides, it's not like you copyrighted it!"

"Oh well as of this moment, do consider that I _have_!" is the other's immediate reply.

"Oh come off it, children!" Eames cuts in with a wide grin. "Surely you can come to an agreement and just share, can't you?"

Arthur laughs quietly as he shakes his head. "Ah, but then they wouldn't have a reason to argue anymore, and where's the fun in _that_?" he wonders, sipping some of his white wine.

"Ha ha bloody ha!" Both Yusuf and Ariadne say in reply. They then narrow their eyes at each other before grinning and hitting their drinks together one more time.

"Oh, look, Darling, the kids have finally made peace!" The forger comments in a sappy tone as he watches them – and Arthur's got to admit the looks on their faces are pretty amusing. This feels nice, friendly even, and neither of them can remember another time like this between co-workers – bonds are just not common (and not safe) in their trade, but this is really enjoyable.

"So I've got a question though – and it's serious," Ariadne asks after some time has passed and the teasing has died down.

"No, I don't shift into a woman in the bedroom," Eames replies very seriously, although he has to grin widely after Arthur viciously kicks his shin under the table. Ariadne blushes and giggles while Yusuf snorts in amusement – but quickly pretends to be deeply fascinated by his beer as the point man sends him a warning glance.

"As interested as I always am to hear about the two of you, this is actually _serious_ serious, as in 'about me' serious," the young girl repeats as the laughter dies down. When she sees she has their attention, she looks around to make sure no one is eavesdropping and blushes a bit. "So what do you do with your paychecks? Because I mean…they're huge…"

"You buy things that make you happy!" Yusuf replies like it's obvious. "I personally plan on getting myself a new electronic microscope!" he informs them, sighing dreamily.

"Whatever floats your boat, mate," Eames chuckles.

"I did!" Ariadne says before humming. "Well, not an electronic microscope of course – a new camera, a new drawing table, a couple of dresses, a few pairs of shoes…"

"Women and their shoes…" Yusuf mutters, always bewildered by the need to possess so many different shoes that most women seem to exhibit – of this size, and this cut, and this shape, and this color, and with no heel, and with a high heel, and with a semi-high heel – it's never-ending! In his experience you just need three pairs: comfy, casual, classy. There. Simple. Women… (And he can see the other two are holding back from laughing at his comment, so he's reassured that he's not the only one who thinks shoes are overrated.)

Ariadne goes on as though he didn't interrupt her, but her hand moves to the side to pinch him brutishly, and she can't help but smirk in satisfaction at his yelp. "But I don't want to go overboard, because then my friends and my family would notice, and there's no way for me to justify that much money…"

"Then don't!" Yusuf replies as though that's the answer to everything as he nurses his poor abused arm.

"I think what Yusuf's trying to say is you don't have to spend it all right away," Arthur intervenes before the lone pinching becomes the prelude to a pinching war. "You can keep it on a separate account; let it pile up interests until you need it for something big – like a car, or an apartment, whatever. I know it can be compelling, but it's best to use your first couple of paychecks to set up an emergency fund in case things go to Hell someday," he tells her seriously. The others nod their approval at this.

"Also, I'm unfamiliar with the study system here, but what about student loans?" Eames then asks. "I know the first big money I earned served to pay off my student's debts." He can see the others are visibly surprised at this, because it's true that he rarely speaks of his private life, but he decides not make a big deal out of it – it's not like he revealed overly much, just that he did indeed study.

But Ariadne simply nods. "Yes, I've thought about doing that."

"I can help you with setting up that emergency fund someday if you'd like," Arthur offers.

"That would be _so_ great, thank you!" she readily agrees.

"And then, you concentrate on graduating so you can become a big-time architect and your loved ones no longer wonder where the money comes from!" Yusuf advises brightly. "That's how I did it – no one wonders why the bio-molecular chemist is rich!" he boasts playfully.

There's more laughter around the table, and Eames shakes his head as he gently pushes Arthur out of the booth so he can get up. "I'd say this calls for another round – alcohol-free, obviously!" Because they really don't need to start showing off their abilities in a crowded place just because they had one too many drinks. "This one's on me, because I know you'll miss me so badly!" he says with a wink. Before the others can order up though there's a beeping sound, and he frowns as his hand goes to his pocket and pulls out his pager.

"Who still has a pager?" Yusuf wonders in amusement before turning to the youngest at their table. "You may be a bit young for this, Ariadne, but in the old days, before mobile phones were made available to the general public, people had pagers – it just lets you know—"

"I _know_ what a pager is, Yusuf! I've watched _ER_!" she interrupts him with a laugh.

Arthur smiles distractedly at this and not for the first time he wonders what's up with this damned pager. Eames looks a bit torn, so he sighs and shows him mercy. "You get that Eames, I'll handle this round," he tells him.

Eames' head snaps up in surprise and he then smiles gratefully, his eyes looking at him warmly as he runs a hand on his arm. "Thank you, Love," he tells him before he walks to the back of the bar so he can have some quiet and privacy.

"What's with the pager?" Ariadne asks curiously.

Arthur tries not to dwell on the fact that he has no idea and it pisses him off, but he just smiles and shakes his head. "So what can I get you?"

Eames is back about ten minutes later, and Arthur does an excellent job of appearing unfazed, when inside he's half-scared that the other is going to announce that he needs to take off who-knows-where for who-knows-how-long. But the man simply apologizes for keeping them waiting as he slides back in beside him.

"So who was that?" Ariadne asks curiously, sipping her syrup noisily with a straw.

"Ah, let the man keep contact with his seven wives and illegitimate children, will you?" Yusuf jokes, scrunching his nose in distaste at the noises she makes.

Eames laughs at his words as he nuzzles Arthur's cheek. "Yes, because it's quite clear from my current situation that I'd have seven _wives_ on the side," he comments.

"Husbands, then!" Yusuf corrects dismissively. It's something they all like about Yusuf: the man understands what their jobs imply and never pries – although of course this doesn't mean that they resent Ariadne for doing so.

The point man chuckles, pushing the other back more out of habit than real annoyance. He hates that for even a second, he entertains the idea that perhaps the chemist isn't so far off from the truth. But Eames' arm on the back of the booth behind him, barely touching him, and his warm smile reassure him that it's not it.

It's closing time when they leave the bar, and Yusuf promises to drive Ariadne back safely, the two wishing Eames luck as they separate. (And of course Eames has to use this opportunity to discreetly tell Yusuf he expects some progress on the 'Ariadne front' by the time he's back, at his friend's great embarrassment.) Arthur and Eames walk back to the point man's apartment since it's not so far off. It's silent for a moment until the shape shifter speaks.

"Only one person has my pager's number," he begins. "Well, now it's _two_, actually – you've got it as well," he corrects himself.

Arthur frowns, trying to remember receiving this piece of information – but really, this wouldn't have slipped his mind. "I do?"

Eames nods. "I added it the other day while you were in the shower – under 'Leonard'," he tells him with a soft smile.

The younger man has to smile back at this, and he pulls out his phone to check for himself – and sure enough, there it is. He can't help it, and he presses call, feeling a rush of warmth as the beeping sound resonates, his smile widening as the forger grins at him. "So…who's the other person I share this honor with?" he then asks, knowing the other is now ready to reveal the Grand Mystery behind the pager's calls.

"Benjamin Connors," he replies. "My brother."

"No secret wife, husband, or illegitimate child then," Arthur breathes out with a relieved smile despite himself. "Yusuf would be so disappointed…"

Eames laughs at this, taking his hand in his. "No doubt he would be, seeing as the truth is much more mundane…"

The point man chuckles, dropping his phone back in his pocket. "So…Benjamin Connors…not Eames?" he asks with a raised eyebrow – because he's gotten so used to 'Eames' that he'd be a bit disappointed if it turns that it isn't the forger's name after all.

"Same father, different mothers. Dad didn't marry Ben's mum but his step-father did, so he took his name," he explains.

"So who's the oldest?" Arthur asks then, because it's the first question that pops to mind.

"He is – didn't picture me as the annoying little brother, did you Love?" Eames teases.

"Oh don't you worry Leonard I can picture you as the annoying anything!" Arthur teases right back.

The other unexpectedly kisses him at that. "I love it so much when you use my name that I don't care if you make fun of me in the process," he informs him with a happy grin.

Arthur smiles back but pushes him away a bit, because he likes his private space when they're in public and he still has more questions. "So does Benjamin know about…well…about any of it?"

Eames nods, serious. "Dad was like me – I mean, not a shape shifter, but special. Ben knows that I…make a living out of it. He respects that choice so long as I 'don't end up dying stupidly in the middle of nowhere' – his words, not mine. But he knows…so he only rings when it's important, that's why I always drop everything I'm doing when the pager beeps…"

"Because it means that your brother needs you," Arthur finishes, finally having the pieces of the puzzle. "So…wait, he called at least three times that I know of – is everything alright?" he wonders with a worried frown.

Eames smiles and nods, rolling his eyes fondly. "Benjamin doesn't have the same notion of 'important' as most people…but back in Istanbul, it was to tell me that his wife was pregnant for the second time; in Moscow—"

"Where you walked out on me," Arthur supplies helpfully, because he's still a bit hurt and irritated about that.

Eames cringes, visibly feeling bad about that particular event as well. "In my defense, I made it back home in time to spend a few agonizing hours keeping my niece busy while my nephew finally decided to grace us with his wailing presence!" he tells him.

"Hmm, okay, you get off the hook," the point man concedes, because admittedly a birth is important. (On the inside, there's a pang of jealousy and it hurts, because Leonard is clearly close to Benjamin despite their different lives, and that's something he himself doesn't have with his siblings anymore.) "And tonight?"

"He was using me as an excuse to escape his father-in-law. And he's apparently decided that I'm to spend Christmas with them this year," Eames informs him.

"It's only February," Arthur comments with a raised eyebrow.

"I warned you he doesn't have the same notion of 'important'," the forger reminds him with a grin. He then bites his lower lip thoughtfully as he looks at him sideways. Well…truthfully Ben also said in no uncertain terms that he wants to meet Arthur – "Since you won't shut up about him even though he sounds boring," were his exact words – but he's not sure that he's really ready for that – or that Arthur is, for that matter. "So now you know the Grand Mystery behind the pager," he says instead.

"Mmh, yes, at last! Now I can finally stop pretending that I'm crazy about you – which is about time, really, because it was getting pretty strenuous!" Arthur lets out with a huff.

"You break my heart with your cold, _cold_ words, Darling," Eames replies, but he's laughing as he speaks.

The point man looks at him warmly then, and realizes that he wants to reciprocate this show of trust. "I've got an older sister and a younger brother; Estelle and Paul – but we're not…we're not close like you two…" he tells him quietly. "They don't know…any of what I do. They have my number, but I mostly get calls when there's a family event I really shouldn't miss at the risk of facing potential excommunication!" he jokes. Eames smiles back but doesn't interrupt – and it's obvious from the warm look on his face that he's really glad to learn about his family. "What's funny though is that when I get back home…well, after the guilt trip attack on 'what were you doing' and 'where are you all the time'…it's like I never left."

"Blood ties," Eames murmurs knowingly in a soft voice. "I told you I believe nothing's stronger than that."

"Yes you did…" Arthur replies with a small smile. "And now I understand why…"

And it's a simple conversation – one that couples generally breach much sooner, although they aren't exactly normal people in many ways – but it leaves them satisfied. More than that, it leaves them feeling safe and peaceful, here in the middle of the street in the middle of the night on the way home. It's a really nice change of pace from the hectic rhythm of their days.

"But you won't give me a reason to have to use that number, will you?" Arthur then asks him seriously.

Eames shakes his head as he squeezes his hand tighter. "I promise I'll be careful. I won't vanish from the face of the Earth, either," he assures him. "I'll be back before Ariadne gets bored and forces you to accompany her on 'girls' night out'!" he promises.

Arthur laughs and shakes his head. "I'll make Yusuf go with her!"

"If this works out, page me immediately with all the details!" the shape shifter replies in amusement.

Eames then thinks that they should really listen to Yusuf's advice more often and go out to have drinks regularly. He tells him as much in a text before he leaves.

After he's off, the others become regulars at the pub – and even manage to drag Dom along a few times.

It's definitely an improvement on morale. And even if Arthur is regularly caught looking at a number on his phone, he never presses the 'call' button and they all smile knowingly but pretend they didn't notice.

* * *

To be continued.


End file.
